Caged
by Miri1984
Summary: Alternate Miranda/Alistair universe. Miranda did not become a grey warden, but was instead captured and imprisoned by Howe. She is rescued by Alistair and Alim, the last two grey wardens in Ferelden, near the end of the blight. Rated M for mature themes.
1. Chapter 1

"You know, I never liked Anora as a child," Alistair said softly to Alim as they crept through the Arl of Denerim's estate. "She was _born _snooty."

"Hey, it was _your _foster father who wanted us to rescue her," Alim replied. "We could always leave her here to rot. Then you can take your chances with the landsmeet. Maybe they'll make you king any way."

"You had to remind me of that, didn't you?" Alistair said, growling a little.

"I hate to interrupt your little heart to heart, wardens," Zevran said from behind them. "But the idea of stealth is _not to be heard_ and you're both noisier than an Antivan whorehouse at the moment."

"Sorry, Zev," Alim said, grinning at his fellow elf.

"And don't think turning a charming smile on me will make any difference, keep your mouth shut and let us get on with this."

They were in the dungeons. Already they'd managed to free Riordan - it had been a great relief to both Alim and Alistair to discover they weren't in fact the only two wardens left in Ferelden. But the Arl's dungeons held many more secrets.

They freed the elven man, the...crazy man who seemed less inclined to leave than Alim would have thought, given his state, and finally Vaughn, a lord who's support in the landsmeet would be valuable, even if he did make Alim's flesh crawl a little. The lyrium addicted Templar refused to leave his cell, however, and Alim could tell from the sympathy in Alistair's eyes that it was unlikely freedom would do him any good in any case.

The final cell held a surprise.

She was dressed in a simple linen shift, torn in places, but relatively clean. Her dark hair hung in tangles around her face, framing her high cheekbones and grey eyes. The face would have been beautiful if it wasn't so haunted. Black shadows lurked under her eyes and her cheeks were hollow with despair. She looked up from her corner as they approached the bars, skittering backward in sudden fear, hugging her knees with thin arms.

"Maker's breath," Alim heard Alistair say. "Who is she?"

"Who are you?" she asked - her voice rough, but soft. Her eyes reminded Alim of the werewolves they had fought in the Brecilian forest - wild, desperate, but also powerful. "Are you from the Arl?"

"We're here to help," Alistair said.

She laughed - a desperate, horrible sound. "What help could you possibly be?" she said.

Alim motioned to Zevran who came forward to pick the lock on the door. She startled at the new face and tried to press herself even further into the corner.

"Keep away," she said.

"It is all right," Zevran said softly as he worked at the lock. "We are not here to hurt you, dear lady." There was a click, and the door swung inwards. She eyed them warily and made no move to leave the cell.

"Are you hurt?" Alim said, moving forwards.

She threw up her hands. "I said keep away!" she cried.

"Wynne?" he said. "Maybe you can help her?"

The white haired mage nodded and stepped forward. The girl tensed, but did not cry out again as Wynne approached. "It's all right, child," Wynne said. "I'm not going to hurt you. None of us are."

"Who are you?"

"My name is Wynne. I'm a healer. Are you hurt? I can help if you are."

She shook her head. "I'm not hurt. Who are _they?" _she motioned towards Alim and the others.

"They are grey wardens," Wynne said. "They're here to help the Queen."

"The Queen is here?" the grey eyes seemed to light up in recognition. "Why would Anora be here? Isn't she at the palace with Cailan?"

"She knows the queen?" Alistair said. "She must be a noble."

The girl shuddered and backed up again at the sound of Alistair's voice. Wynne shot a look at Alistair that plainly said _shut up._

"It's all right, child. I'm afraid Cailan is dead. How long have you been here?"

She shook her head. "Forever. A long time. I don't know. How long since Highever fell?"

"Highever was destroyed by bandits nearly a year ago," Alim said softly.

"Bandits!" the girl snorted. "A whole year. Is my brother alive? Did they find him?"

"Your brother?"

"Fergus. Howe said he was dead, but I didn't believe him. Not even when he...when he...." She drew in a breath that was almost a gasp, "...no. Fergus was going to Ostagar...."

"Dear Maker, it's Miranda Cousland!" Alistair burst out. "We were told all the Couslands were dead!"

The girl had shuddered again at Alistair's voice, but she seemed to take interest in his words. "Not dead," she said, finally. "As good as, perhaps. Do you know what happened to my brother?"

"Fergus reached Ostagar but he was on patrol when the main horde attacked," Alistair answered. "No one knows what became of him."

"Lying bastard," she hissed through her teeth.

"Hey!" Alistair said.

Alim put his hand on his friend's arm. "I don't think she means you, Alistair," he said.

Miranda Cousland, if that was who she was, got to her feet with surprising agility. She fixed Alim with a hard gaze, lifting her chin. Alim could see the clear marks of fingers on her neck and along her jaw - bruises on top of bruises. Her arms were also covered with them, but she showed no sign they were bothering her. "An elf mage?" she said. "And a warden you say?" Alim nodded. "Why are you here?"

"We need to find Howe," Alim said. "One of the other prisoners said he would be in the dungeons. Have you seen him?"

"He passed here an hour ago," she said. "I will come with you."

"Um.. I don't think that's the best idea," Alistair said. Her head spun round and her grey gaze bored into Alim's fellow warden. Alim could feel Alistair's nervousness from where he stood. The woman was frightening in her intensity.

"You don't," she said, her voice dripping with scorn.

Alim took pity on his friend. "Not to be rude, my lady," he said. "But we're heading into fights and danger and you're not exactly armed."

"That won't be a problem," she said.

"You could get hurt," Alistair pointed out.

"No," she said. "No, I couldn't. Not any more."

"Look, we'll leave the cell door open, but I recommend you stay here until we get back," Alim said. "We'll deal with Howe."

"No," she said again. Before Alim could react, she had slipped past him and was gone. Her stealth and speed were astonishing - as good as Leliana or Zevran at their best. There was no way they'd be able to find her unless she wanted them to.

"Andraste's mercy," Alistair said. "Let's just hope she doesn't run straight to Howe and tell him we're here."

They made their way down - through the torture chamber. Alim didn't know how it could get any worse. He was so tense he was leaking magic - Wynne and Alistair had to keep nudging him to remind him to reign in his power.

When they finally reached Howe, all four of them were on a knife's edge of shock and anger. It had been too much to hope he would be alone save for the mage - two other powerful fighters stood next to him, their hands on their weapons, ready to defend their lord.

"Well, well, the grey warden," Howe said, crossing his arms and smiling a little - as though seeing Alim and the others there in the depths of his private dungeon was exactly what he'd expected. "I'm surprised Eamon would condone you invading my castle and murdering my men. Is he losing faith in the persuasive power of his landsmeet?"

"I'm here for Anora," Alim said.

Howe threw back his head and laughed. "The traitorous bitch has you under her thumb? Anora does love games. I'm surprised she'd play with the likes of you..."

Alim sensed her before he saw her. He tried very hard not to look in her direction, but Howe obviously had instincts trained by battle, and his head snapped towards the slight movement to his right.

Miranda Cousland had somehow scavanged some leather armour and a pair of daggers. Her hair was pulled back away from her face, which was pale and determined under its bruises, her daggers were drawn and she was crouched in a fighting stance that reminded Alim of Leliana. _A rogue_, he thought. _Who would have thought Bryce and Eleanor Cousland would train their only daughter up for a fighter?_

"Well, well..." Howe drawled. "So, you found my little Cousland pet, did you? She's a good bitch, if you ride her hard enough. I don't suppose you had time for a try though, did you?"

Miranda's mouth opened in a snarl, and Alim shuddered.

"I doubt the Landsmeet will be very sympathetic to the man who kidnapped the daughter of one of the most powerful families in Ferelden," Alistair said, and Alim heard the shake in his friend's voice.

"And you want to be king?" Howe said, turning his gaze on Alistair with a sneer. "Fine leadership material, if you wince at the thought of one girl's _punishment, _at the hands of her betters."

Alistair's hand flew to his sword.

"Enough talk, Howe," Alim said. "I know enough and we've enough evidence to kill you right here and not even Loghain would be able to convince the landsmeet that we were in the wrong."

Howe dropped into a fighting stance and drew his axe and dagger. "By all means," the older man said. "Try."

Miranda was moving before anyone else. She didn't hesitate, but leapt straight for Howe. Alim marveled at the energy and strength she displayed, considering how long she had been imprisoned, what had been done to her, but Howe couldn't fight her off. She wrapped herself around the man like a spider, too quickly for his guards to react. Alim took the opportunity to distract them, and started casting. Alistair needed no encouragement to wade into the fray.

While he cast, Alim watched as the Cousland girl clung to Howe's back, drawing back his head and whispering something into his ear, caressing him like a lover before drawing one dagger across his throat. The Arl fell forwards with Miranda still on his back and Alim turned his full attention back to the battle.

When Howe's companions lay dead - the mage among them that would ensure Anora's escape, Alim turned back to find Miranda still on the ground next to Howe's body.

Wynne dropped down beside her and placed a hand on her arm. She flinched away, then saw it was Wynne and relaxed a little.

"Gentlemen," Wynne said. "Why don't you leave us for a few moments."

Alim nodded and began to hustle Zevran and Alistair from the room. Alistair seemed reluctant to leave, he was looking at the two women with an unreadable expression on his face that nonetheless filled Alim with a sense of unease.

They waited in the coridoor. "What if she won't come with us?" Alistair said, nervously. Alim looked at him. "Well... we could use her support in the landsmeet," he said. "She's a Cousland - everyone thinks they're all dead, she would be able to sway at least as many people as Anora."

"Wynne will convince her to come. I doubt she would want to stay here."

"It is sometimes hard to throw off the shackles of imprisonment, my friends," Zevran said. "But she seems strong, I have hope."

A few minutes later Wynne emerged. "She's agreed to come with us back to Arl Eamon's estate," she said softly. "But she's very fragile, gentlemen. Please, don't touch her, try not to talk to her. She needs... space. And a lot of it, I'm afraid."

"Do you think she'll be able to speak for us in the landsmeet?"

Wynne shook her head. "I really don't know," she said. "If it weren't so soon I'd say yes, but we've only got a couple of days and I couldn't tell you how she'll react once she's in safety. Some women... get worse, once the threat is removed. Others spring back."

Alim suddenly noticed that Miranda had emerged from behind Wynne. She moved so silently - he could almost believe she was a spirit rather than a person. "I'll be able to speak in your landsmeet," she said softly. "I want to see Loghain fall."


	2. Chapter 2

If they hadn't had both Anora _and _Miranda with them at the exit, Alim would have considered surrendering to Cauthrien and her men. As it was, he didn't think they could afford any more delays and so they were forced to fight their way out of the estate. He felt regret at killing Cauthrien - he didn't believe she was a bad woman, but she had thrown her lot in with Loghain, and he could not afford to hold back.

Miranda proved a valuable asset in the fight. She said not a word on the way back, however, and walked stiffly some ways distant from them. Anora tried once to speak to her, but Miranda simply turned her gaze to the Queen and looked at her blankly. After a moment, Alim saw the Queen flinch and look away. _And well you might, _he thought. _If it wasn't for your father, chances are this woman would still be at Highever with her father. How does that sit with you, your majesty? _When they reached Eamon's estate Wynne took Miranda with her, presumably to help her clean up and heal any injuries she might have sustained. They had no idea how much damage Howe had done to her in her time in the dungeons. Alim suspected it was far more than Wynne would be able to heal.

Anora had words to say to them, once they were decent, about possible unrest in the Alienage. Alim found himself curious as to what Loghain may have done to his former brethren. He knew his family had moved on since he had been sent to the Tower, but he wondered whether any of his former playmates still resided there. When she asked to speak with him privately, however, he was immediately suspicious.

Eamon too, cautioned him. He glanced at Alistair, who raised an eyebrow. Alim motioned for him to follow him, and they made their way to Alim's rooms. "I trust you," the former Templar said, once they got there. "And I know you are a better judge of character than I am. But I wouldn't trust her, not if you value your skin. You know she once stole an entire tray of cookies from the Redcliffe larder? Who do you think got the blame?"

Alim grinned at him. "I can probably guess. Do you want to come with me while I talk to her? She probably wants to further her claim to the throne."

"Hey, if she weren't Loghain's daughter, I'd say let her have it," Alistair said. "But like Eamon said, she's got her own agenda, and I'd be surprised if it didn't in some way align with her father's."

"You know, it would make your claim a lot more legitimate if you married her."

Alistair rubbed the back of his head and frowned. "I know," he said. "But I'd have to kill you if you suggested it again. It's bad enough you want to make me king. If I was king, _and _had to wake up to that every morning?" he shuddered. "I'd just as soon be eaten by the archdemon, if it's all the same to you. I'm sure it would be less painful."

"Being king won't be that bad, Alistair," Alim said. "And I thought you were coming around to the idea anyway?"

"I am," Alistair said, suddenly serious. "I will do it. I know I have to. But marrying the daughter of the man who murdered Duncan? Not on my list of things-most-fun-to-do-in-Alistair-land, Alim. I'd really, really prefer not to."

"As you wish, my prince."

"Gah! Go and talk to the woman already. And if I find out you've promised me to her, I'll run away with Oghren and start a circus."

After what they found at the alienage, Alim began to doubt that Loghain was sane. Anora had said he'd gone mad, but he thought she'd meant mad with power, not actually...

He supposed he shouldn't have been surprised. Humans had always looked upon elves as their servants. Perhaps Loghain was just acting on the impulse every human had. He found himself looking at Alistair and Wynne and Leliana, hoping to see the same disgust in their eyes that he felt himself. He was relieved to see it mirrored in their faces as they freed the last of the slaves. Perhaps not all humans were like Loghain.

It would be enough. They had the support they needed. The Landsmeet would support Alistair.

That evening he visited Wynne in her quarters. Miranda Cousland had not emerged from the room she'd been given since they'd arrived. Her meals had been arranged for her and Wynne had visited her several times, but she had refused to come out and speak. Alim needed to speak with her, though, before the Landsmeet. He needed to be certain she would be able to face the other nobles.

"I'm not sure she'll see you, Alim," Wynne said gently. "You have to understand what she's been through..."

"I'll never be able to understand it, Wynne," Alim replied. "You know that as well as I do. What I do understand is that we need her support, and we need her to be able to face a room full of people. If she can't, we'll do without her. But I'm not backing Anora and if she finds that out it's possible Loghain could walk out of this victorious."

"I'll speak to her. Why don't you wait here? She might feel better if you don't come into what she perceives as her space."

Alim nodded. Wynne left and he began to pace. It was all coming together. The months of travel, of fighting. He had faced his demons - old and new, made friends, gained a lover - it seemed an age since he had left the Tower. _Jowan,_ he thought to himself. _You were my only true failure. I wish I could have saved you._

The door opened and Wynne came in, leading Miranda. She was wearing a court lady's attire, and some of the hollowness had left her cheeks, but he was struck by an overwhelming sense of fragility. The bruises on her arms were covered by long sleeves, but those on her neck and jaw had turned an ugly, mottled green. They were exactly the pattern that would be made by a hand holding her down and Alim found himself unable to look away from them.

"Warden," she said. "You wanted to speak with me."

"I need to know...."

"If I can speak at the Landsmeet. Yes."

"Sorry?"

"My answer. It's yes."

Alim was irresistibly reminded of Sten. "Are you certain? You've been through a lot and we can probably..."

"Do I need to repeat myself?" She raised a delicate eyebrow. "I'm perfectly capable of speaking in front of the Landsmeet. I will be there and I will support you tomorrow. You want to put Maric's bastard on the throne?"

"Alistair, yes," Alim said. He was uncomfortable with the way most of the Ferelden nobility referred to his fellow warden as "Maric's bastard". It was a convenient way of erasing the man's personality. He wanted this woman especially not to think of Alistair as a blank slate.

"Fine with me."

"Wouldn't you like... to get to know him better? I mean, Cousland support is probably the most important thing for him..."

"Wynne tells me he's a fine man. I believe her. I also know he's not of Loghain's blood, and as far as I'm concerned, that's good enough for me."

Alim swallowed. "Ah... well. I suppose that's all I wanted to say. I'm sorry for doubting you."

The ghost of a smile hovered around her lips. "You're forgiven. Don't do it again." She turned and left.

"Maker's breath," he said. "That's a strong woman."

Wynne nodded. "Indeed she is. I have some hope for her, poor dear."

There was a knock at the door. Wynne opened it and ushered in Alistair.

"Nervous?" Alim asked.

"Only a lot," his fellow warden replied. "Did I just see Miranda Cousland leave? Did you speak to her about tomorrow?"

Alim nodded. The templar sat in a chair by the fire and stretched out his long legs, sighing deeply. "She seems happy to support you," Alim said. "Although I wish it was because she was taken in by your charms."

Alistair cocked an eyebrow. "You mean she wasn't?"

"I doubt charms would have any affect on her at the moment," Wynne said.

"Will she recover, Wynne?" Alistair asked, his expression forlorn. _Oh Alistair, _Alim thought. _That's a dangerous feeling you're harbouring there..._

Wynne let out a deep sigh. "Howe didn't put her to torture, the way she did that poor Oswyn. But it really amounts to the same thing. He used her - let his men use her. He killed her family and deprived her of her liberty for nearly a year. People don't... recover from that sort of thing, Alistair. They live with it."

"I wish we could kill him all over again," Alistair growled. "You know, I met her once.. when she was a little girl. She probably doesn't remember... but... Teagan always used to say she was the strongest of the Couslands."

"I hope he was right, Alistair."

* * *

The day of the landsmeet dawned. Alistair woke with snakes in his stomach. He was a slightly shocked he'd actually managed to sleep at all, but he supposed Templar training had to be good for something.

He dressed in Cailan's armour. Alim had suggested it, although he felt guilty putting it on. He left Duncan's shield next to the bed, unwillingly, but the image had to be complete, and he armed himself with Maric's blade and Cailan's shield before taking a deep breath and making his way to the entrance hall.

Alim and the others were waiting for him. Miranda Cousland stood a little apart, with Leliana. She was dressed in court finery, although more simple than most dresses he had seen around Denerim - cream silk with a dark green bodice. Her hair was clean and held back in a bun, but a few wisps fell over her forehead. Alistair had a sudden urge to brush the strands away and flushed, wishing he'd put on Cailan's helm suddenly, rather than carrying it. Looking at her was dangerous. The livid marks on her neck made his blood boil and rage in his veins, and the fact that the neck was shapely and delicate and topped by that face made it doubly hard to concentrate on whatever he was supposed to be doing.

He turned to Alim, who was watching him with an amused smirk on his face. "Are we ready?" the elf asked.

"No," Alistair said. "But let's go. If we wait for me to be ready the Blight will overcome us."

He didn't want his fellow warden to know exactly how not-ready he was for this. Although he knew - had known from the moment Cailan died if he was honest with himself - that this was the only way, part of him couldn't help but wish it could be different. When they entered the landsmeet chamber and he felt all the eyes of the nobility on him it took all his Templar training not to shudder. Alim's solid presence, and the presence of their other companions, even Morrigan, was like a warm fire at his back and he took a deep breath as Eamon's speech came to its end.

He turned his gaze to Loghain.

The hero of River Dane returned his gaze briefly, before dismissing him and turning to Alim. For that alone, Alistair thought, he would be king. And be a damn good one too.

Alistair was constantly amazed at Alim's ability to manipulate the mood of a situation. The nobles were shocked by his recount of what happened in the Alienage, Loghain was obviously shamed by the accusation of Eamon's poisoning. When Miranda stepped forward, however, there was complete silence. Some of the nobles recognised her. There had been mutterings on their entrance, but many of them didn't, and it made what she had to say all the more shocking.

She stood straight and stiff, in front of Loghain. "What was the purpose," she said, in a strong clear voice, "of allowing your man Howe destroy the Couslands? In what way did _that _serve Ferelden's interests, my lord Loghain?"

There was a sharp intake of breath from the surrounding nobles.

"The Couslands were traitors," Loghain said. "They had dealings with Orlais. They could not be trusted."

"Oh?" Miranda raised an eyebrow. "Aside from the fact that this is a lie, would this be justification for murdering them? Without trial? My house was invaded by Howe's men, my lords and ladies. In the dead of night. We had been expecting them to travel with us to Ostagar, to fight in the battle this man - " she flung her arm at Loghain "- _abandoned_, causing the death of our king. Instead they broke into our rooms and murdered us. Killed my mother and father. Slaughtered my nephew - a boy of ten years! And Howe - this man's closest confident, most trusted advisor - took me prisoner and kept me as a toy for nearly a year in his dungeons. Along with others who offended him for no other reason than they opposed his wish for unchecked power. Along with this man's _daughter..."_

"Oh, yes, let us talk of my daughter! Where is she, warden? What have you done with her?"

Anora's entrance couldn't have been better timed. Alistair half expected her to throw her lot in behind Loghain, but Alim's promise to her must have held some merit, for she denounced Loghain and the Landsmeet was theirs.

"The landsmeet is against you, Loghain," Alim said in his quiet way. "Let us settle this honourably."

"Will you fight me yourself?" Loghain said, sighing. "Or will you use a champion."

"Alistair will be my champion," Alim said.

* * *

When the Landsmeet was over, when Loghain lay dead and Alistair had made his speech to the nobles of Ferelden, Alim looked at his fellow warden and sighed. "Now we just have to fight an archdemon," he said.

Alistair looked less bewildered than he had before the Landsmeet. There was something almost.... but not quite.. kingly in his demeanor. Or perhaps he was just hungry.

"That should be easy, after what we just did," he said, rubbing his hand through his hair.

It wasn't. But then, Alistair had always had a talent for understatement.


	3. Chapter 3

"All right, Alim," Alistair said, in his newly acquired - but mostly ruined - royal study. "Do you want to explain to me why we're both still alive?"

Alim kicked some rubble away and dusted down a chair before sitting. "Believe me, Alistair, you don't want to know."

"No, really, I do. The High Commander is going to be asking me a lot of questions...."

"And the less you know about it the better. I can avoid his questions easily enough, whereas you.."

"Are completely without guile and won't be able to. As you wish, then." He made a half hearted effort to clear the massive desk, before giving up in disgust and fixing Alim with a calculating glare. "Am I right in guessing it has something to do with Morrigan running off?"

Alim let out a laugh. "Observant little bastard, aren't you?"

"I knew there was a reason you were sneaking around the night before the fight. What did she make you do?"

"I really meant it when you said you don't want to know, Alistair. Just be thankful I did it."

The new king of Ferelden sighed and looked out the gaping hole in the wall that used to be a window. "You and Zevran really are going to stick around for a while, aren't you?" Alistair said. "I really think I'm going to need you when the vultures start showing up."

"Vultures?"

"Did I say vultures? I meant nobles. Sorry."

"I assumed," Alim said, "when you made me your chancellor, that it would be a paid position."

"Well, naturally. And Zevran can be my court... assassin? Antivan?"

"Zevran can be an advisor to the throne. It's probably not a great idea to go around naming him as the court assassin."

"Or the chancellor's lover, I'd imagine."

"I don't think he'd have a problem with that," Alim said, smiling. "But yes, the famous "Ferelden purity" - as Zev would put it - would probably be offended if he was publicly acknowledged in that capacity. Luckily for me he happens to like sneaking around at night."

Alistair grinned. "Now there's some information I don't need to know."

"Speaking of lovers..." Alim said. "You're going to have to get married you know. And quickly, if you want to have an heir. I know Eamon's already been whispering in your ear about it."

"Leliana turned me down," Alistair said.

"Huh," Alim said. "I'm going to pretend you didn't say that."

"She'd make an excellent queen," Alistair said. "You can't deny it."

"I don't think Ferelden's ready for an Orlesian queen yet, my friend," Alim said.

"No, and I'm not ready for a queen at all," Alistair sat on the desk and picked up a chunk of stone, weighing it in his hand. "I'm drowning here, Alim. Give me a little bit of time to get my feet under me. Then I can start thinking about marriage. Besides, it'll give Eamon time to draw up a suitable list of candidates." Alistair's mouth twisted bitterly. "He probably wishes he had a daughter."

"You don't sound happy."

"Being a warden sort of shut those options off for me, Alim. I never thought I'd marry at all. But.. I hoped..."

"If it came to that, you hoped you'd get to marry for love?"

Alistair nodded.

Alim stood up and clapped his friend on the shoulder. "Never mind, Alistair," he said. "You might get your chance. I mean, there are a lot of noblewomen in Ferelden - _some _of them might even like you."

* * *

Alistair was busy arranging work crews to help repair the damage to the city. Most of the common folk had managed to flee when they saw the horde approaching. The few nobles who had remained after the Landsmeet had done the same. Actual casualties in the city had been light. Mostly troops, and, Alim was sad to note, elves who had been unable to escape the Alienage. Most of the elves had perished during the battle for their homes, however, and Shianni had met with Alistair on several occasions since then to discuss the best way of helping those who remained.

The coronation was going to be in less than a month, and it was important that at least the throne room look presentable before then. Alistair was reluctant to devote manpower to the palace when there were so many other areas of the city that required urgent attention, but Alim convinced him that appearances were worth something in this case, especially as he was a new face to most of the nobility.

The nobility started arriving too soon for Alistair's tastes, although there was one arrival who was very welcome indeed.

Alistair was in his study when the knock came. He got up to answer the door himself - there were few servants and no secretaries at the palace as yet, so he ended up doing a lot of things himself.

Alim was there, accompanied by a tall dark haired man who looked vaguely familiar.

"Alim. Good to see you. Who's this?"

The tall man held out a hand and took Alistair's shaking it enthusiastically. "Fergus Cousland, your majesty."

"Fergus?" _Miranda's brother! _ "By the Maker, it's good to see you alive and well!" Alistair cried. "Come in, come in. Find a piece of rubble to sit on."

"Thank you, your majesty."

Alim smiled and slipped away, leaving the two of them alone.

"Does your sister know you're well?" Alistair asked.

"She does, your majesty. And I have to thank you and your friend Amell for rescuing her. I can't tell you what it meant to me to find out she was still alive."

"I only wish I could have got there earlier," Alistair said. "If we'd known the full extent of Howe's depravity...."

Fergus' eyes clouded. "She's on her way here," he said, after a pause. Alistair's heart skipped a beat. "Arlessa Isolde said she would travel with her from Redcliffe to the coronation. She said she wanted to see you crowned."

"I'm assuming you're talking about your sister, here," Alistair said with a wry grin. "I doubt Isolde is looking forward to it."

"You don't get on with the Arlessa?"

"We've had our disagreements in the past," Alistair said. _If you call banishing me to the Chantry a disagreement._

"In my sister's letter she said she especially wanted to come. She didn't mention whether Isolde was keen or not."

"Is she..." Alistair suddenly didn't quite know what to do with his hands and clasped them in front of him on his desk. "Is she all right? Do you know?"

The Teryn of Highever frowned for a moment, then shrugged. "I don't think we'll ever be the same," he said. "But she writes as though she is. She said she'd like to see your friend Wynne again - and Leliana? Was that her name?"

"Yes, Leliana and she seemed to get on quite well. I can understand why - they've both...." _been through a lot.. _he was going to say, but the words seemed hopelessly inadequate. Leliana's story about what happened to her after Marjolaine's betrayal had only come out recently, but he could see why the two women would find common ground.

He supposed it made a difference to Leliana that in the end she had been able to free herself. He wondered if killing Howe had helped Miranda in the same way.

"I look forward to seeing her again," Alistair said. "Is your estate in full repair here? I know we're a bit behind on the rebuilding..."

"The estate has seen better days, I'm afraid," Fergus said. "It's one of the reasons I'm here, actually, apart from your majesty's coronation, of course. I've brought a contingent of workmen to get started on the repairs."

"Have you been to Highever?"

"I was in Highever when the archdemon attacked Denerim," Fergus said, and his voice turned grim. "The damage to the castle wasn't bad, that's why we've been able to bring so many here. Howe's men were far more intent on... killing than destroying. I found I didn't want to linger."

Alistair nodded in sympathy. "I'm truly sorry for your losses, Fergus."

"Thank you."

"I hope that you'll stay at the Palace? We _do _have accommodation here that isn't quite as messy as this."

"I was hoping you might ask," Fergus said, with a small smile. "Our estate's roof is... mostly missing I'm afraid. And the Gnawed Noble smells suspiciously like dead ogre."

"Yes, well, we killed a few right near there," Alistair replied. "It takes a lot to get the smell out of armour, I can tell you that much."

Fergus smiled. "Well, your majesty, it was truly a pleasure to meet you."

"I'm very, very glad you're here, Lord Cousland," Alistair said. "I have a feeling I'm going to need solid men and women at my back. I would be honoured if you were one of them."

"As far as I'm concerned, as one of the men who freed my sister and helped kill Howe, you have my loyalty for life, your majesty. I owe you a blood debt, and I hope I get the opportunity to repay it."

Alistair was taken aback by the seriousness of the man, but was incredibly grateful for the sentiment. Once the man had left, he had a moment to reflect that none of the other nobles - not even Eamon, he thought bitterly, had offered such heart felt support. He would have to make a point of keeping Fergus close to him in the months to come.

Eamon came to collect him for a midday meal shortly after Fergus left him. They were currently still surviving on troop rations, although Alistair had been assured that supplies and cooks would be arriving from Amaranthine within the week. He found he didn't mind too much - having subsisted on trail rations for the better part of the year he didn't feel deprived. Zevran had managed to smuggle some cheese and wine to him the day before, though, and part of him was looking forward to the kitchens getting into swing again. "I understand Fergus Cousland has arrived," Eamon said as they walked to the storerooms.

Alistair nodded. "He's pledged his loyalty to me, actually."

Eamon smiled. "Well, that's extremely good news," he said. "The Couslands will be valuable allies. In fact, I wanted to talk to you about the possibility of improving that alliance."

"Improving? How exactly?"

"A marriage between you and Miranda Cousland."

Alistair nearly stumbled. "What?"

"Surely you've been considering it, Alistair?" Eamon said. "Really, she's the most logical choice after Anora, and seeing as that isn't a possibility..."

"Eamon, you _know _what Howe did to her..."

"She's not with child, your friend Wynne confirmed it, so I don't see how it matters, especially if we delay the wedding for nine months..."

"I can't believe you're suggesting this!" Alistair cried. "The girl was held prisoner for nearly a year... she was... repeatedly..." he swallowed. "You _know _what happened. There's no way she'll..."

"Alistair, what she went through was terrible, there's no denying it. But she's a Cousland. She has a duty..."

"Andraste's flaming sword, Eamon! Duty!" Alistair threw up his hands in disgust. "Truly, I think some nobles are born without hearts. Is that what makes you all so much better than the rest of us?"

"Might I point out, Alistair, that you are technically the ruling noble here, not me."

"Huh. Maybe it's like a disease and takes a while to manifest. How long do you think I've got?"

"Please, son..."

"How do you think her brother would react to her being married off to a man she barely knows? The man just told me he owes me a blood debt - am I going to ask him for his sister in payment?"

"Of course we wouldn't force her into anything, Alistair," Eamon said. "In the end it would be her and her brother's decision. But I think we should broach the subject when she arrives. In fact I think Isolde may even already have done so."

"Isolde...." Alistair stopped walking and buried his head his hands. "Maker's breath, Eamon. I can't believe this."

"Are you telling me you'd rather marry someone else?"

He caught his breath. He could still remember her face perfectly - the first time he saw her in the cell, later as she drew the knife across Arl Howe's throat. Not exactly romantic images, but still.. and at the Landsmeet, when she had spoken and lifted her chin, the marks of Howe's - or Maker knew who else's - hands still clear on her face... she'd been so strong, yet so fragile, he'd wanted, then and there, to gather her into his arms and protect her from any more hurt. He was embarrassed to think that he'd even dreamt about her in the weeks since she'd been gone. It was ridiculous. He barely knew her. But...

"I don't... Eamon you're being an arse. You know I don't know any other women. I certainly don't know any other nobles."

"Consider it, Alistair," he said. "She's not our only option, but she is, in my opinion, the best one."

"We don't have to make a decision now, do we?"

Eamon shook his head. "No, but..." the older man sighed heavily. "I'll be honest with you, Alistair. You're going to be bombarded in the next few months with nobles trying to push their daughters on you. It would save you a lot of trouble and heartache if you were engaged as soon as possible. With the aftermath of the Blight to deal with and the situation with Orlais you're going to have a lot more to worry about than who will be your wife, but the nobility and the commoners will want you to be married and the longer it's delayed the more of your time and trouble it's going to go to waste trying to deflect them."

"Can we have another Blight please?" he said. "I can do archdemons and darkspawn. This politics thing is going to kill me."

Eamon chuckled. "It will get easier, son, I promise."

"I think you're lying," Alistair said.


	4. Chapter 4

After a mostly silent lunch, Alistair took his leave of Eamon rather hastily and made his way to Alim's quarters. He knocked briefly before entering to find the mage and Zevran both present.

"A lock, or perhaps some less eager friends, might be advisable on these quarters of yours, Alim," Zevran said, hands frozen in the mage's dark hair. Alistair blushed furiously.

"Maker, I'm so sorry," he said, beginning to back out again, but Alim waved a hand.

"No harm done, Alistair," Alim said. The two men were at least fully dressed, and it wasn't as though Alistair hadn't interrupted them before, doing far more intimate things than arranging each other's hair. He suspected Zevran had arranged at least one of his interruptions, actually, during their travels, although Alim had laughed at him when Alistair suggested it.

"You can't blame him for trying," Alim had said. Alistair had decided not to pursue the subject after that.

"I actually wanted to speak with both of you in any case," Alistair said. "If you don't mind?"

Alim smiled at Zevran and motioned for Alistair to take a seat. Zevran perched on the bed, a sly smirk on his face that did nothing to lesson Alistair's embarrassment.

"Eamon wants me to marry Miranda Cousland," he blurted as he sat.

The mage and the assassin looked at each other for a moment. "Well," Alim said. "That's not entirely surprising, considering."

"You're not surprised?" Alistair said. "Why am I the only one who's surprised by these sorts of things?"

"My dear Alistair," Zevran said. "You're innocence is entirely beguiling. She is the most powerful noble Ferelden female - you are its king. Surely..."

Alistair clasped the arms of his chair. "But surely... we have to take into consideration.... Maker's blood, Zevran, she was raped and tortured for a year - she won't want to marry me! She won't want to marry anyone!"

"Have you no objection to the match, other than your belief she will not enter into it willingly?" Zevran said.

Alistair laughed helplessly. "I think it's a pretty big objection, Zevran."

"Alistair, if she says yes, would you?" Alim said then. "You can't tell me you don't like her. I saw the way you looked at her before the landsmeet."

Alistair looked at his friend helplessly. "Of course I like her..." he said. "Well.. probably like is not the right word - I admire her... she's amazing - look at what she managed to do...." Alim raised his eyebrow at his friend and Zevran coughed a little. Alistair let out a sigh. "What do you want me to say? That she's beautiful? That I want... I would very much like... _Maker's blood, _why am I totally unable to use speech when I talk about this sort of thing?"

"You'd be happy enough to marry her, I think." Zevran said. "But you are worried that she would _not_ be happy to marry you, no?"

"It's not just because of the... I'll need to produce an heir, and in order to do that you need to... do certain things.. and.."

Alim was laughing at him. He could feel it even though the mage wasn't doing it out loud. "Alistair, if she marries you, she'll bed you. I get the impression if she says yes she'll understand what's involved."

"But I don't want it to be a case of... doing her duty..." he looked at the two men helplessly. "Oh holy Andraste. I'm a complete fool."

"Yes," Zevran said. "But this is why we love you, Alistair." The Antivan sighed and leaned forward. "The situation is difficult. But I can assure you it is quite possible for a woman to find pleasure in her husband. Even after such horrors as our Cousland warrioress has gone through. It may take time. But it is possible."

"How in the Maker's name am _I _going to be able to... do that?"

Zevran looked at Alim, clearly puzzled. "Remind me to tell you a story about lampposts later, Zev," the mage said. Alistair groaned. "Look, Alistair, when it gets down to it, that's a secondary consideration. Yes, you'll need to have sex with your wife -" Alistair winced at his bluntness "- if you want an heir, and given her situation that could be a problem - but the biggest problem I'm seeing from here is _why _exactly Eamon has suggested you marry her."

"He wants to cement our bastard's claim to the throne," Zevran said. "That much is obvious. From what I understand, aside from Alistair and Anora, Fergus Cousland is the most logical choice as ruler of Ferelden."

Alistair frowned. "But Fergus has pledged his loyalty," Alistair said. "He said this morning he owes me a blood debt. Really, we don't need to cement the alliance any more than that."

"So why does Eamon want you to marry her?" Alim asked.

Zevran pursed his lips and got to his feet. "Joining the two bloodlines is logical," he said. "Something the Antivans are very fond of doing - marrying two powerful houses. But perhaps... with Lady Cousland's unfortunate incarceration... "

Alim was nodding. "Perhaps Eamon thinks she'll be easily controlled. Broken by her time with Howe."

"A timid, but high ranked queen would suit our Arl's purposes quite nicely," Zevran said. "His influence over you would be without rival were your wife to remain in the shadows. I imagine Eamon was quite relieved when you declined to marry Anora, my friend."

"Timid?" Alistair said, remembering again the look on her face as she'd slit Arl Rendon Howe's throat.

"Eamon wasn't with us in the dungeons, Alistair," Alim said. "He didn't see her.. what she did."

"But the landsmeet...."

"He probably thought Alim told her what to say," Zevran said. "We didn't consult with him beforehand, if you remember."

"I'd like.." Alistair ground his teeth. "I'd like to think better of Eamon," he said.

Alim got out of his chair and put his hand on Alistair's shoulder. "You've always wanted to think more of him than he deserves, Alistair," he said gently. Alistair's hand went to his neck, where his mother's amulet lay. Alim noticed the gesture. "I'm sure he cares about you - don't get me wrong. But in the end..."

Alistair looked up and cocked an eyebrow at the mage. "Everybody's out for themselves. I have to understand that, right?" Alim's face softened at the words.

"Everybody except for you my friend," he said. "Everybody except for you."

* * *

Isolde's voice floated to her from the other side of the carriage. She had enough presence of mind to make pertinent replies when the woman said something that required a response, but she actually felt happy enough letting the lilting accent float over her. Two ladies maids shared the carriage with them and although Miranda had no desire for anyone to help her dress or undress at the moment she was grateful for the wall of femaleness that surrounded her.

The conversation had moved on past her possible marriage prospects, which was something of a relief. Miranda had known from the moment she met Maric's bastard that someone would suggest she marry him. Part of her rebelled at the very concept, but another part - the practical part - considered it. It was logical. If she looked at it from a purely political point of view, it was desirable and at the moment she had no facilities to look at it from any other.

Anyone would be better than...

Her mind shied away from the thought and she tried to focus on Lady Isolde's conversation again. After a few exchanges about Orlesian fashions she felt normal enough to disengage herself once more.

Fergus would be in Denerim. She clung to that thought with all her might. That he was alive was so unexpected - so marvelous, that she didn't trust it. She would not be happy until she could see her brother, in front of her, hale and whole. She even thought she might be able to embrace him. The thought of his arms around her did not make her shudder the way even the slightest touch of her handmaiden's hands did.

When they reached the palace and she alighted from the carriage he was there. He wasn't the same though. Of course he wasn't. In his face she could see what it had done to him - the loss of Oriana, of Oren. The belief that he had lost her. The death of their parents - the discovery of her imprisonment - all of it. He had always been too honest.

She didn't run to him. That level of emotion was still locked from her. But she did sink into his embrace, and it was sweet - so sweet not to be afraid. He was her brother, he smelt like Highever, but Highever before the Arl's men came, woodsmoke, leather and something quintessentially _Fergus. _She blinked away tears and held him close for a long moment that she wished could go on forever.

When finally they pulled apart he searched her face with urgent eyes. She knew the bruises had faded, but she also knew he was seeing in her what she had seen in him. "Oh, pup," he said softly, tracing his finger down the side of her face, "I'm so sorry I wasn't there."

They had forgotten there was anyone else around them. A cough from behind Fergus reminded her that she was in Denerim on an official visit - technically. They would have time for a proper reunion later.

Behind Fergus she saw the King, who looked younger than when she had first seen him. He was accompanied by Arl Eamon and the mage - Alim. Eamon greeted Isolde with a chaste kiss on the cheek. The King bowed deeply to her before turning and kissing Isolde's hand - a courtly gesture that he pulled off quite handsomely considering what she knew of his background. Alim simply smiled and nodded his head.

"I'm sorry we don't have a more... appropriate welcoming committee, my ladies," Alistair said. "But we're still short on staff, and Teryn Cousland suggested a small party would be all that was needed."

Miranda dropped a curtsey. "Thank you, Your Majesty," she said.

"I'll leave your brother to show you to your rooms," the King said, looking slightly nonplussed. "Perhaps we can have a more informal dinner together later? Bann Teagan and Bann Alfstanna are both here and have expressed a desire to see you."

She opened her mouth to politely refuse, then remembered that this was the King - that in all probability she would be marrying him, and shut it again. Instead she nodded. Truly it wouldn't be so bad - Teagan she had always liked, and Alfstanna was a calm and sensible woman.

Fergus and she had been given rooms next to each other. Once she was settled he joined her and they sat, silently by the fire for a few minutes, savouring each other's presence. Most of their news they had exchanged by letter in the weeks previously, so there was no pressing need for talk, and Miranda found the silence comforting.

Finally Fergus shifted in his chair. "I don't really want this to be the first thing we discuss, pup, but something's come up.."

She cocked an eyebrow at her brother. "You're talking about Eamon and Isolde's plans to marry me to the King, aren't you?" she said.

Fergus' lips twitched in a grin. "I should have known Isolde wouldn't be able to resist discussing it with you. I just want to say that this is entirely up to you. Alistair has made it quite clear to me...."

"Alistair? You're on first name terms with the king, my brother?"

Fergus laughed a little. "He insisted I call him that, actually," Fergus said. "Really, he's a very nice young man you know. But inexperienced, and in desperate need of help and support."

"Which you're willing to give him?"

"After what he did for us... for all of Ferelden, Miranda - well we owe him."

She looked into the fire and nodded. "Yes. I suppose we do," she sighed, then shook herself. "You said he'd made something clear to you?"

Fergus nodded. "Eamon came to me shortly after I arrived here," Fergus said. "He raised the possibility of you marrying Alistair. I must admit I was a little rude to the man at first."

"He is a bit pushy," Miranda said. "Father always said so."

"Yes. Well. Alistair thinks Isolde is the pushy one, but I'm not so sure. In any case I told him to go away at first but then I got to thinking..."

"Politically it's a sound match, Fergus. You can't have been overly surprised that the King's closest advisor would suggest it."

Her brother shrugged. "I went to the King. Alistair apologised profusely for Eamon's haste in broaching the subject, and then he told me it was entirely up to you."

She was suddenly curious. "He _wants_ to marry me?" she said.

"Is that so difficult to believe, pup?"

"I... ah... well. Yes. He doesn't know me. The first time he met me I was hardly at my best..."

"From what I heard you were at your best in some ways, pup. Some men like their women to be strong."

She gave a desperate laugh. "Strong?"

Fergus' face clouded. "He's not like your average noble, you have to understand. He was a templar initiate, then he was a warden - he's never been to court before - probably never really met any women who weren't Sisters or commoners..."

"You make him sound like some sort of innocent fool.."

Fergus shook his head. "He's.. not. Although I can see why some people might think so. To be honest, pup, if it wasn't for.... what happened I'd say you should marry him. He's a good man, and I think he will treat you well."

"If it wasn't for what happened."

"Pup, you don't have to marry anyone at all if you don't want to. I.. I will marry again eventually. The Terynir will have its heirs. There are other noblewomen."

She sighed. "And what am I supposed to do then?" she said. "You're not about to make me your warleader, are you? I can't just mope around Highever - being your childrens' funny maiden aunt who never lets a man touch her..." she was finding it difficult to speak and didn't know why until she felt wetness on her cheeks. She drew in a breath that was actually a deep, heaving sob and suddenly Fergus was there and she wanted him to embrace her but there was a flash of memory and she found herself scrambling back off the chair into a wall. Her mouth was shaping words and her hands were shaking and she sank down into the floor, unable to stand, wrapping her arms around her knees and burying her face in them as the tears continued to flow.

She didn't know how long she stayed like that, but when she looked up Fergus was crouched in front of her, his hands on his knees, his face full of anguish.

"I'm so sorry, Fergus," she said, taking a shaky breath.

He shook his head. "You have nothing to apologise for," he said. He held out his hand. She reached out, tentatively at first, then grasped it firmly and got to her feet.

"We don't have to go to this dinner if you don't want to."

"I'll be all right," she said.

"Tell me," Fergus said. "Tell me what _you _want, pup. We'll make it happen. I promise."

She wiped her face with her hands and took a breath. "I want to be back to normal," she said. "I want to not be afraid. And..." she managed a smile. "You know I think I would quite like to be Queen."

"But..."

She waved a hand. "I'm not well at the moment," she said. "But if the King is as good a man as you say, I'd be stupid to refuse him."

"I don't want to say it, pup, but you'll need..."

"He didn't.... Howe didn't... do that to me very often," she said. "He was away a lot. Doing things for Loghain. And he didn't let anyone else either." Her mouth twisted. "He was very particular about that. He'd let others _watch.. _but I was _his..." _she thumped her chest for emphasis. Now that the words had started, they couldn't be stopped and she found herself almost babbling. "He liked to call me his pet. He'd have me dressed up and brought to his chambers and he'd..."

"Miranda..."

_"Lady Cousland, a pleasure as always."_

_She gave a deep curtsey, exactly the way he'd taught her, unable to stop the trembling in her limbs, too conscious of the guards posted either side of the door, ready to grab her at the slightest hint she was going to attack. She'd tried that, the first few times. She still carried the scar from the second._

_"My lord Howe," she said. "I am your servant."_

_He strode forward. She kept her eyes on the ground, still kneeling, trying with all her might not to flinch. She could hear the rustle of his clothing - feel the heat pouring off his body. It had been a few weeks, since the last time. He would be ready quickly. _

_"Look at me," he ordered. She raised her head, wishing she could shut her eyes, not see him there, waiting... ready. The man who killed her parents. "Open your mouth."_

She shuddered and closed her eyes. "Fergus I need to move away from that place," she said. "I need to be who I would have been if he'd never come to Highever. And _that _Miranda Cousland would have married the King." Fergus was shaking his head. "Didn't the King say it was my decision?" she said after a pause. "Are you going to take that away from me?"

"No, of course not. I'm just worried about you, that's all."

"I'll be all right," she said firmly._ I will. _"And Fergus, think of it, will you? Howe tried to take everything from us. He wanted the Couslands to cease to exist. But we both survived. You're the Teryn. If I were Queen... well, wouldn't that just make our revenge complete? He failed, Fergus. He didn't crush us - he _couldn't_."

Her brother smiled grimly at her. "I love you, pup," he said.

She managed to smile back at him.


	5. Chapter 5

At dinner that night Alim couldn't help but notice the tension between Alistair and Eamon. They were dining in one of the guest dining rooms - smaller and more private than the massive throne room that doubled as a banqueting hall. Since their discussion about his marriage options Alistair had done his best to avoid the Arl, and Eamon had noticed it. On the few occasions Alim's path had crossed the Arl's he had been extremely cold to the mage and Alim suspected it would only get worse. Although Alistair had assured Alim he would have the post of Chancellor after the coronation, he was certain Eamon believed the post rightfully belonged to him. Despite their efforts to restore him to health and save his family during the blight he didn't entirely trust Eamon, and he was certain Eamon didn't trust him either.

Alim had other things to worry about as well. Hints from the other nobles had reached Zevran's ears and it was clear that most were unhappy with his proximity to Alistair - an elf, and a mage, _and _a warden. Despite his status as the Hero of Ferelden there were enough nobles in the Landsmeet who found the thought of someone like him so close to the King a threat. Alim was beginning to think his decision to stay in Denerim was going to be harder on him than he at first thought.

Fergus and Miranda were slightly late to the table, and Alim watched Alistair closely as they entered. His friends' eyes lit up and he smiled - his regular, open and honest grin that Alim hadn't seen too often since the archdemon's defeat. When Miranda returned the smile with a small, shy one of her own and took her place at the top of the table, nearest the king on one side, Alim allowed himself a small amount of hope - that perhaps she wouldn't object to the marriage after all - that perhaps Alistair would have a chance at happiness in his new position.

Bann Alfstanna and Bann Teagan propelled the conversation for the evening. Alim was glad they were there - for the rest of the party seemed unwilling to talk at all. It was an awkward gathering and Alim was thankful when it came to an end.

Miranda and Fergus got to their feet first. "Thank you for a lovely meal, your majesty," Fergus said formally.

"It was my pleasure to have your company, Teryn Cousland, Lady Cousland," Alistair said, also rising and shaking Fergus' hand warmly. Alim waited, hoping he hadn't forgottten. "Oh.. and ...ah.. perhaps your ladyship would be so kind as to call on me tomorrow after breakfast? In my study? I believe we have matters to discuss."

She looked up at him and smiled again. "Indeed, Your Majesty," she said. "It would be my pleasure." She seemed to hesitate before dropping a deep curtsey. The siblings then left the room.

Alim breathed a sigh of relief.

The other nobles left shortly afterwards, leaving Alistair and Alim alone with a rather fine Antivan red. "Did I embarrass myself too badly, Alim?" Alistair asked.

"You did very well, Alistair," Alim said. "I swear you're beginning to get the hang of it."

Alistair rubbed his hands through his hair and sighed. "I wish I had some sort of script to read," he said. "I never know what to say. I'm terrified I'm going to send someone off with a raging grudge and an urge to put anyone other than me on the throne."

Alim grinned at him. "So... what's the plan for tomorrow morning? Are you going to give her a rose? Get down on one knee?"

His friend groaned. "I bet you're loving this," he said. He took a sip of his wine and pondered for a moment. "To be honest, I was hoping just to lay the facts out before her and see what she says - I don't think it's really an opportunity for romance. Or do you think it is?"

"I have limited experience with seducing women, my friend. Perhaps you should speak to Zevran instead?"

"I doubt I'd be able to get out of a conversation about romance with Zevran with my dignity intact," Alistair said.

"Or possibly your clothing," Alim added, grinning. "And who said your dignity was intact, any way?"

Alistair rolled his eyes, then helped himself to some cheese from the board on the table. The food had been plentiful, but Alistair always had room for cheese. "From what Fergus says his sister is a very practical woman," he said, chewing thoughtfully. "I doubt she'd even be considering the match otherwise. I thought being matter-of-fact about it might... I don't know... help her? Stop her from seeing it as anything to do with... you know..."

"I think you're probably right," Alim said. "And if she's going to like you, she'll like you for who you are, so any contrived romanticism will probably just turn her away."

"If she's going to? Thanks for the vote of confidence."

"I think she does like you already, Alistair," Alim continued. "Really - you're quite an easy person to like. When you're not beheading people or up to your neck in darkspawn guts."

"You know, I always thought darkspawn gore showed off my eyes."

"You should stop stuffing cheese into your mouth," Alim said, as he stood to go. "Ferelden doesn't need a fat king."

Alistair snorted. "I'll see you tomorrow," he said.

* * *

He couldn't stop himself from pacing. He hadn't been able to eat breakfast either, and the hollow rumbling in his stomach did nothing to help his concentration. When the knock came at his door he almost let out a sigh of relief.

She came inside hesitantly, alone. He wondered if she'd been in a room alone with another man, apart from her brother, since then.

"My lady Cousland," he said.

She curtseyed. "Your majesty."

"Won't you sit?"

They both sat across from each other. She looked beautiful - her hair was loose down her back, held back with a few braids and he admired the curve of her pale cheek. She folded her hands in her lap and looked at him - seemingly completely composed.

"I suppose you know why I've requested we meet," he began. She nodded. "My advisors inform me that a marriage between the two of us would be... politically desirable."

"Indeed it would, your majesty," she replied, quite coolly, he thought. His heart sank a little. "Are you intending to propose?"

"I...ah... Well, yes, I am I suppose," he said. "I kind of thought you might like to talk about it first though."

"What would you like to talk about?" she asked.

He looked down at his hands for a moment, at a loss suddenly. Finally he looked back up at her to see the faint edge of a smile on her lips. For some reason, it calmed him. "Would you _like_ to marry me?"

She cocked her head on one side as though she was considering the question in much the same way she might consider the choice of colour for a gown, or the best in a selection of pastries. "I am certainly not averse to the prospect," she said. "Your majesty seems like a fine man. Kind. My brother speaks very highly of you."

"Um.. that's good to know," he said. "I'm fond of him as well."

She grinned then, and he was momentarily dazzled. "I would be honoured to accept a proposal from you, your majesty."

"Ah... well, that's.. that's wonderful.." he stammered. "Shall I tell Eamon? We can begin arrangements... um.." He stopped and ran his fingers through his hair, suddenly terrified. "I just wanted to say... we can wait for as long as you like before the wedding. I don't want to push you into something..."

She pursed her lips. "We don't need to wait," she said firmly. "And I don't think it would be wise. Any delays will make it seem like there are problems with the match that don't exist."

He cocked his eyebrow at her. "Don't exist?"

She got to her feet suddenly, breath exhaling from her in a gust. "I suppose," she said, and her tone had gone cold, "you think I won't be able to.. fulfill my wifely duties for a time. Because of what... Howe did to me."

He wanted the earth to swallow him up, but he couldn't let it lie. It was too important. "I'm sorry," he said. "I don't want to bring up painful memories."

She sighed. "I won't lie to you and say it's going to be easy for us," she said. "I don't... I don't like to think of what marriage entails, but I do _know. _I only ask that... when the time comes, you'll be able to forgive me if I'm not... entirely enthusiastic."

He was seized by the same impulse to hold her - protect her that he had felt at Eamon's estate before the Landsmeet. It was ironic. He didn't think there was a woman in Ferelden who needed protection less than she did.

"Of course," he said. "But I do want you to know that I won't force myself on you - no matter what Eamon says about conceiving an heir."

"Really, your majesty," she said. "That's... sweet of you. But you don't need to worry."

_I do, _he thought. _I really, really do._

"There are other things we need to discuss," he said. "Specifically about your role...other than the obvious one."

She nodded. "What would you expect of me?" she asked.

"Well, to be perfectly honest, I could use your experience," he said. "Your brother said you're at least as politically savvy as he is, and you'll have the added advantage of being able to see me in private. So, what I'd really like is for you to... help?"

She grinned suddenly. "I think perhaps your friend Eamon would not like that idea."

He frowned. "I agree. Which is one of the reasons I wanted to see you alone today. What.. what would you expect of me?"

She looked confused. "I ah... I hadn't really thought, your majesty," she said. "I suppose I'd just like the assurance that I won't be shunted to the side, and you've pretty much already given me that."

"Well, that should be easy enough," he said, smiling. "Perhaps we could... breakfast together? Until the wedding? I would like the opportunity to get to know you a little better."

"That would be very pleasant, your majesty," she said.

"Then shall I see you tomorrow? The room where we dined last night? Your brother is welcome to join us."

"My brother is not at his best in the morning," she said, smiling. "But I'm sure he'll join us tomorrow at least."

"And if there's anything else you can think of I hope you let me know before the wedding. Or even after.. if you feel so inclined."

She curtseyed again and left the room.

Alistair expelled a breath he didn't know he'd been holding as he watched her leave. _Maker's breath, _he thought. _Is it possible to fall in love this quickly?_


	6. Chapter 6

"Do you eat cheese at _every _meal?" she asked him a week later. The coronation was tomorrow. The palace repairs were almost complete and plans for the wedding were gaining momentum. She had breakfasted with the king every day for the past week and found herself warming to him considerably - his easy humour and obvious regard for her made it the most pleasant time of her day. He was also, she privately thought to herself, extremely handsome - especially when he thought he was being made fun of.

"Only when it's available," he answered, around a mouthful. His table manners were appalling - she would really have to take him in hand about them after they were married. "I spent nearly a year on the road, remember. Sometimes the only food we had was dried wolf. Not very appetising. Although Leliana used to make quite a good stew of it... sometimes..." he trailed off. Apart from Alim and Zevran, his companions had departed the palace as the nobles started to arrive. He obviously missed them - Leliana most of all, she thought.

She was shocked to feel a twinge of jealousy.

"You miss them?"

He nodded. "I couldn't really expect them to hang around here," he said, "not without official positions and I'm a little short on them unfortunately. Alim has taken the only one I was really allowed to assign without any outside consultation."

"What about mine?" she said, cocking an eyebrow.

He grinned. "Oh, yours, my lady, was taken as soon as I saw you. No consultation necessary."

She found herself blushing and took a sip of tea to cover it. "So," she said then. "Coronation tomorrow."

He grimaced. "Yes. They're planning on a parade for Alim afterwards, through Denerim. Should be interesting."

"Are all of your friends going to be there?"

The grimace turned into a smile and she was glad she'd been able to remind him of a good side to the formalities. "I believe so. Even Shale has agreed to turn up, which I'm slightly surprised about."

"Shale's the golem? I never met... it?"

"Her," Alistair said. "She was a dwarf before she became a Golem. Most golems were, apparently. We didn't bring her to the Landsmeet - she's a bit unpredictable. Chances were she would have.. how would she put it... 'squished' Loghain before we had a chance to convince everyone that he was in the wrong."

"Well, you pretty thoroughly squished him yourself in any case."

He looked troubled. "Yes, I did," he said. "I sometimes wonder if I went too far."

"How so?"

"Anora was there. She was right next to him. I.. didn't think - I was just so.... angry and... " he paused. "I should have had him removed."

"You wanted revenge," she said. "Sometimes that's more important." She remembered the feel of the dagger in her hand, the beat of Howe's heart under the skin of his hot neck. Remembered the smell of him - so familiar after so long. _"Is this how you like it, my lord?" _

Alistair was watching her, concern on his features. She must have let some of what she was thinking get to her face. She carefully smoothed her expression. "Do you know Anora well?" Alistair asked then. "I thought when we were leaving Howe's... I thought she tried to talk to you."

Miranda pursed her lips. "We met a few times," she said. "Mostly at court. We weren't friends." She studied her plate for a moment, trying to decide if she was still hungry. "If you don't mind me asking, where is she?"

He raised his eyebrows. "We moved her from Fort Drakon to the Warden headquarters - they're in better repair and some of the quarters are actually quite well fitted out. She's under close guard."

"And what are you planning to do with her?"

"Eamon wants me to have her executed," he said. "I'm not so sure."

She took a bite of bread and contemplated him for a moment. "You know, it might be worthwhile going to see her. She's a strong leader and the people of Gwaren have a lot of respect for her. If she's executed you'll have to find someone for that Teyrnir and I personally can't think of anyone more qualified."

"You make a good point. I'll mention it to Eamon. But you don't think she'll be a threat?"

"I'd recommend we keep a close eye on her," Miranda said. "But if we can get her on side she'll be a valuable ally."

"I doubt she'll ever like me," Alistair said. "But you can't really blame her for that. I killed her father and took her throne. Puts a bit of a barrier on cordial relations."

She smiled. "You obviously are a stranger to politics, Alistair," she said. "That sort of thing is sometimes a precursor to the strongest alliance." His expression softened suddenly and a strange smile touched his lips. "What?" she said. "What did I say?"

"Oh, nothing," he said. "It's just the first time you've called me by my name, that's all."

Her hand flew to her mouth. "Your majesty..."

He sighed. "See, now you've spoiled it. Can I just be Alistair for you? It would make me happy. I've never been your majesty before these last few weeks and every time someone calls me that I think they're talking to someone else. It makes me feel a bit like.. I'm not real."

"As your majesty wishes," she said, smiling.

He scrunched up his nose at her. "Very funny. This is my laughing face, in case you haven't noticed."

They munched in silence for a time before a page came in with a message for the king. "I'm sorry, my lady," he said as he read it. "This is from Eamon. It seems my presence is required."

She nodded. "If I'm to call you Alistair," she said as he got to his feet "I think it's only fair that you call me Miranda."

He smiled at her. "I'd like that very much," he said softly. "Thank you.... Miranda." His voice hesitated on her name and she felt a strange shiver run down her spine and lodge itself in her stomach. There was something almost like a caress in his tone - she'd never heard it reach such a low register. She felt heat rush to her face and hoped he didn't notice as he sketched a bow and turned to leave.

* * *

Her handmaiden was called Liana - she replaced the woman Isolde had found her almost as soon as they reached Denerim, although she had done so discreetly - the last thing she wanted to do was offend the wife of her husband-to-be's foster father. Liana was an elf from the Alienage, and she had experience with gowns of all types. More valuable to Miranda, however, was her proficiency with a blade and ability to deal equally well with leather armour.

Although Miranda didn't anticipate ever having to face real foes again - not in her new role - she didn't want to let go of her training and had been diligently practicing every day, when she could find the space and the privacy. She was not going to be caught unawares again.

Liana tutted as she tied laces on the gown Miranda was to wear for the coronation. She had a fairly minor role - Alistair would announce her as his betrothed shortly after he was crowned and all she really had to do was curtsey and look pretty, but she expected it to be tedious and drawn out, like all court functions. The gown had been commissioned and made in a hurry, and it was indeed a thing of beauty - blue velvet, low cut, with a stripe of gold down the back that ended in a train - but it was certainly not made for comfort. As Liana pulled the laces tighter she wished she'd not eaten breakfast, although lack of food at this stage, combined with limited oxygen, would probably make her faint.

"How would you like your hair today, milady?" Liana asked softly, running her hands through the sable curls and lightly combing them with her delicate elven fingers.

_"Take it out," he ordered. She complied, unwinding the braids and letting it fall down her bare back. He grabbed it and yanked, pulling her partially upright on the bed, groping her breasts with his free hand as his breath blasted hot and rough on her neck. "Better, bitch," he panted, and bit her, hard enough to draw blood. She cried out in pain and rage as he pushed her head down onto the bed and kicked her legs apart, still holding her hair in his fist, twisting as he plunged into her, grinding her down, jerking and thrusting..._

"Milady?" soft hands were at her neck - soft - feminine hands. She took a deep, shuddering breath and looked up at her reflection in the full length mirror. Her skin was clear. There were no teeth marks, no bruises. Liana's green eyes were full of concern and she dropped her hands. "Milady are you all right?"

She blinked. Who was this woman in the mirror?

"I'm sorry, Liana. I think I should have it up, don't you? Off the neck. Maybe a bun?"

"I can make it a bit more elaborate than that, milady. Some flowers - I think we have some Andraste's Grace I could weave in.. they would match the blue in your dress."

"Whatever you wish, Liana."

* * *

"Oghren will you stop fidgeting," Alim hissed to the dwarf.

"Sodding suit," his friend said. "Why couldn't I wear my armour? I bet the little pike twirler gets to wear his armour."

"Alistair is the king," Zevran said. "He is in the enviable position of being allowed to wear exactly what tradition dictates - in this case, full plate."

"Why full plate armour?" Leliana asked. "In Orlais our empress was crowned wearing a golden silk gown."

Alim couldn't help the chuckle that escaped his lips, remembering Alistair at Ostagar. "We should ask him to dance the remigold," he said softly, but the others didn't hear.

"Were you there for her crowning, Lelli?" Wynne asked. "How lovely!"

"I... unfortunately did not linger long," Leliana said, flushing a little. "I was there in a somewhat.. official capacity."

"I'm sure if we were crowning a Queen and not a King she'd be wearing a gown," Alim said. "But Ferelden kings are often assassinated during coronations. It's a bit of a tradition. Full plate is less from ceremony and more for practicality."

"In Antiva our Kings are also crowned wearing armour," Zevran said.

"It was a very elaborate gown," Leliana mused. "I wouldn't be surprised if she was able to fit a mail shirt underneath it. Or at least a leather breastplate."

"I suppose the Qunari don't have coronations at all, Sten?" Wynne asked the giant man.

"No," he replied.

"I fail to see the use for a ceremony such as this," Shale rumbled. "No one who would actually want to see the King is allowed to and everyone else here simply wishes it would finish. A pointless flesh custom."

"Good to know your feelings, Shale," Alim muttered. _It's a pity every other person in the room now knows them as well._ "Where is that man? Do we have to stand here for the rest of the day?"

Alistair and Miranda entered side by side, and Alim was impressed. Miranda's head was held high and the elegant sweep of her gown accentuated her lithe slimness and grace. Her dark colouring set off Alistair's golden armour and hair and it was almost as if the spirits of night and day had arrived. There was a collective gasp from the crowd and Alim made a note to himself to congratulate whoever Miranda's seamstress was.

They walked together to the front of the throne room where the grand cleric awaited them. Alistair left Miranda next to Alim at the front of the crowd. She looked at him and smiled, but her eyes were distant. He wondered what was going on behind them.

The grand cleric pontificated for a while and Alim let the words float over him. He applauded with everyone else when the crown was placed on Alistair's head, then more when Miranda went up to the dais to join him. Alim didn't think it was possible for anyone to be more regal than Anora, but she managed it - with the cool incline of her head and ramrod straight posture she made up for Alistair's slightly goofy grin.

They were a perfect match.

Alim's turn to take the dais came and if anything the applause was greater for him than it had been for Alistair. Despite the fact that there was no way he would have reached the roof of Fort Drakon without his friend, that he would have died fifty times over in the months beforehand, the fact that it had been his hand that plunged the sword into the dragon's head (his slight, elvish, mage hand) made all the difference. He wondered if he had died there, on the rooftop, people would have felt the same. Probably they would have been more enraptured by him. Dead heroes were more glamourous than live ones.

That night they had an excuse to get together as a group for the last time. Alim and Zevran watched as Alistair talked to each of them in turn. Sten was going home in the next day or so. Leliana was off to the ashes. Wynne would be staying in Denerim, but she would have limited access to Alistair from now on in - the Chantry would have a fit if more than one mage was in daily contact with him - and Oghren - well Oghren was, remarkably, going back to Orzammar to get married.

He truly hoped Felsi would be a sobering influence on him.

Miranda sat next to Alistair during the banquet and Alim found she had mellowed somewhat since their last meeting. Her breakfasts with Alistair seemed to have done some good - she talked more freely and although she never exactly laughed, there was a half grin she had that only appeared when Alistair made one of his signature witty comments.

At the end of the evening, when the nobles had departed and each of the companions took their leave, Alim felt the expression on Alistair's face mirrored his own inner melancholy. It had been a dreadful year in so many ways, but it had been simple. They had an enemy, and they had defeated it.

Now he wasn't sure who was the enemy, but he had a horrible feeling that there was more than one, and they were all doing their best to appear as friends.


	7. Chapter 7

Miranda was on her way back to her quarters after the coronation. Alistair had walked her to the coridoor her room was located. Fergus was still up and drinking with Oghren and Bann Teagan. She was tired and her back hurt and she was short of breath in her tight gown, but in all she'd enjoyed herself more than she thought she would. Alistair's friends had been entertaining - each in their own way. While she had talked to Leliana and Wynne shortly after her rescue, the male companions had kept their distance and she had not had the opportunity to get to know them at all.

Oghren in particular had almost made her laugh several times during the evening and she was grateful for the distraction. Her earlier thoughts had tried to resurface a few times - especially during the banquet. The long table and hum of conversation had reminded her poignantly of Highever and festival days - dinners where her mother had tried to marry her off, dinners surrounded by friends and family.

Many of those dinners had included Howe.

This time, however, she'd felt a bit more like she had that one time Fergus had sneaked her to the tavern in Highever in his clothes. Alistair's companions seemed incapable of treating him with the respect and distance his rank demanded. There was none of the awkward silence or stilted conversation that she was used to from formal dinners at their estate - or even the few dinners she'd been asked to attend with the other nobles of Ferelden since her arrival in Denerim. The talk was full of stories and jokes and at one stage Oghren had even burst into song, although he'd been quickly shushed by Shale who'd threatened to turn him into a red smear on the floor of the throne room.

That was one of the times she had almost laughed.

She was just one turn from her room when she heard the voices. Liana's she recognised straight away, but the second was unfamiliar.

"I said no, my lord. My lady will be back soon and I have other..."

"You want it. Keep still and let me..."

"Get away!"

"Keep still."

She could hear sounds of struggling and her feet stopped of their own accord. There was a loud crack of a hand connecting with flesh, and a small, strangled cry.

"I said keep still, bitch, or I'll gut you where you stand."

The gown was impractical and stupid, but at least the skirt was flared enough for her to wear a leg sheath. She reached down and drew the dagger she had strapped there and strode around the corner.

Liana was being held against the wall by a man who had his hand clamped firmly over her mouth. She was struggling, and Miranda could see she was trying to reach the dagger she always carried in her bodice, but the man was too firmly pressed against her and she was not strong enough to twist away. As she approached, softly, Liana's eyes widened and the man reached down to hitch her dress up over her hips, fumbling with his own clothing at the same time.

Miranda wasted no more time but closed the distance between them, grabbed a handful of the man's hair, yanking his head back and silently slipping the dagger in front of his throat. His breath rushed out of him - reeking of alcohol - and he went completely still

"Give me one reason why I shouldn't slit your filthy throat right here," she hissed in his ear.

"You wouldn't," he said, but didn't move.

"Oh really? It wouldn't be the first rapist I'd killed that way."

"I'm the Arl of Denerim!"

She chuckled. "Wouldn't be the first Arl, either," she said, letting the point of the dagger nick his throat. "Let her go and back up. Slowly."

The man did so and she backed up with him, stepping carefully to avoid her gown. As soon as Liana was free she drew her own dagger, pulling her skirt down and eyeing the man with undisguised hatred.

"Who is he, Liana? Do you know him?"

"Vaughn," the elf spat.

She had met him before - but never spoken with him. Her father had always managed to avoid taking her on his visits to the Arl of Denerim. She wondered how much he had known about the habits of his son. "Oh, so you _are _the Arl of Denerim. I've heard of you. I believe we shared accommodation for a while in fact. What _precisely_ were you doing with my maid?"

"Knife eared bitch was eyeing me all night," Vaughn said. "Of course, when we got here she decided to play hard to get."

Miranda raised her eyebrows at Liana, who shook her head. "Naturally," she said softly. "Well. Maybe the King won't mind a visit from the Arl of Denerim at this hour. I believe he was going back to his quarters."

"The King?" Vaughn stuttered. "But...."

Miranda pushed him down the corridor. Luckily the kings' rooms weren't very far, and Vaughn was drunk enough that he didn't present much of a threat to two sober, armed women, even if they were wearing ridiculous clothes. Poor Liana must have been caught unawares. When she reached the king's door she shoved Vaughn against a wall with Liana holding a knife to his throat and knocked - her heart suddenly thumping against her chest. She had no idea what Alistair's opinion of Vaughn was - only that he'd freed the man from Howe's dungeon at the same time he'd rescued her. Maybe he'd done so because they were friends. Maybe he and Vaughn had established some sort of connection during his time in Denerim.

Maybe they shared the same tastes.

The thought made her shudder, but she remembered his face the previous morning when she had called him by name - the gentle way he'd spoken to her after her rescue and bit her lip. He wasn't the same sort of man. She had to believe that.

Alistair opened the door himself, dressed in a padded shirt and trousers. He'd obviously only just removed his ceremonial armour.

"Miranda?" he said, confused. "Um... I don't know if it's appropriate..." he trailed off as he saw the tableau behind her. "Ah.." he said. "I see we have a problem."

Rather than invite them in, he strode out into the corridor. "Vaughn," he said, recognising the man. "Well. What have we here?"

"I caught him trying to have his way with my maid outside my quarters, your majesty," Miranda said.

Alistair cocked his eyebrow. "I'm surprised he made it here intact," he said, smiling slightly at her. She allowed herself a small smile in return. "What do you have to say for yourself, Vaughn?"

"She wanted it," Vaughn spat. "They all do. Knife eared bitches. She was all over me, the whole night. You were there, you probably saw it."

"Excuse me if I was a little too involved to notice your romantic entanglements this evening, Vaughn. Regardless of how she behaved at the coronation banquet, I believe she was quite firm in rejecting you by the time my betrothed came upon you?"

"Most firm, my liege," Miranda said. "I can bare witness to that myself."

"Well, then, Vaughn," Alistair said. "I think it's fully within my rights to strip you of your Arling for attempted rape. It is still a crime according to Chantry law."

"You can't take her side!" Vaughn cried. "She's just the same as the knife ears. You should have heard her when Howe took her in the cell next to me. Mewled like a whore...."

Alistair's face didn't even twitch. He simply swung with one arm, connecting with Vaughn's face so quickly that Miranda barely caught the movement. Vaughn's head snapped back violently and for a moment she thought Alistair had broken his neck, but when he slumped unconscious to the floor she could see the rise and fall of his chest and the beat of a pulse at his neck.

Alistair shook his hand, wincing. "You know, that hurts a lot less if you wear gauntlets," he turned to Miranda and Liana. "Stay here for a moment, ladies. I'll just call for the guards to drag this little weasel down to the dungeons."

Liana was watching Miranda with her mouth open and a flush to her cheeks. "Milady," she said softly. "You are a lucky woman."

She smiled at Liana. "I'm beginning to think so."

Alistair emerged again a few minutes later, having rung for the guards and changed into a linen shirt, trousers and boots. Miranda felt her eyes lingering on the span of his shoulders for a moment - he was a big man, made that way by years of fighting rather than food. She remembered at the Landsmeet when he had dueled with Loghain the unconscious grace he'd displayed, circling and striking with precision. She suddenly wanted to spar against him - he would be an interesting opponent and she wondered if her stealth and speed would be a match for his strength. His casual blow to Vaughn had had a certain breathtaking force to it - a confidence he never displayed in conversation. Had Vaughn decided to fight back he wouldn't have stood a chance.

"We'll wait for the guards to get here, then I'll escort you back to your chambers, my lady," he said. "Hopefully you won't have any more unfortunate encounters."

She dropped a small formal curtsey. His lips twitched.

The guards arrived a few moments later.

"Mmm," Alistair said as they watched the unconscious figure being hauled away. "I must admit that it feels rather good to have someone like that dragged off at one's order. Mustn't get into the habit of it, though. I don't want to be branded a tyrant." He offered his arm to Miranda and she hesitated only a second before taking it. It was becoming easier to touch him. Liana fell into step behind them, far enough away that they could talk with some privacy.

"Thank you, Alistair," she said softly as they walked. "To be honest I wasn't sure how you'd react to me dragging him here."

"Really?" he said. "Alim warned me about him at Howe's. There was something going on with him and the elves of the Alienage." His mouth twisted. "Something of a tradition, apparently, for the Arls of Denerim. If we hadn't needed his support in the landsmeet I probably wouldn't have reinstated him."

They were walking quite slowly and she was suddenly shy and curious about him in a way she'd never been before.

"I don't really know anything... about you and women," she said. "I never thought to ask - even though we're to be married... Was there anyone.. else? If you hadn't been forced to be king, I mean.."

He gave a short bark of a laugh. "No," he said. "No one else. I didn't exactly have the time for romance, you understand. Raised in the Chantry and all that."

"But surely..."

He ran his free hand through his hair, obviously uncomfortable with the way the conversation was heading. "I suppose you should probably know... considering..."

"Should know what?"

"I.. ah.. I've never actually been with a woman before. At all. In any capacity."

She couldn't help looking at him incredulously. "Did the Chantry make you take a vow of chastity?"

"They would have, if I'd been there any longer. But no. I just... never had the opportunity."

"I find that difficult to believe!"

"Ah ... well I suppose I did have a few opportunities along the way, but... really I didn't... I mean.. that is..." he breathed a large sigh. "Talking about this with a woman isn't easy."

"You mean it's easier with a man?"

"Oh sweet Andraste. No, of course not. But when Alim asked I was more prepared..."

"Alim asked you about your... sexual history?" she said. "Why on earth..."

"Holy Maker, Miranda, I'm completely messing this up. Yes he did ask - it was.. call it..... warden bonding - on the road. We got to know each other pretty well..." he looked at her expression... "...not like that! I mean..."

"I'm sorry, Alistair," she said, grinning now. "I didn't mean to make this more difficult for you."

He laughed and shook his head. "It's not that it's difficult... it's just that whenever I think about this... I feel like a bumbling idiot - all.... hands..." he sighed. "I guess I just thought you should know, considering we'll probably already have some difficulties in that regard."

"You could always take care of that before we're married," she pointed out.

He stopped walking and looked at her for a moment. His mouth worked a little and his hands twitched, as though he wanted to touch her. There was a long pause. "No," he said finally, softly. "No I couldn't. I'm.. I'm going to marry you, and I want... _that_ to be special. Between us. I know it might be difficult but..."

Her breath hitched and she felt her heart speed up. He was bright red with embarrassment, but he was so sincere, so earnest that she could almost have leant up and kissed him. Instead she reached out, tentatively, and touched his hand. He looked down at her, amazement flowing across his features, until he gently twined his fingers around hers, rubbing his thumb across her skin. His hand was calloused and large and so.. so warm and it felt incredibly intimate to be touching him, and incredibly _right._ She smiled up at him, hoping some of what she was feeling he could see in her face. His eyes softened and he smiled back as they turned to continue walking, their hands still entwined.


	8. Chapter 8

The next morning Alim was intrigued and delighted to find that Alistair had assigned him a study. An elven servant came to fetch him after he'd eaten his breakfast and took him there. He felt a little bit like a child allowed to play with his parents things as he investigated the room - a large desk, a fireplace, a low table and chairs. It was fitted out in much the same way Alistair's was, and was only a few doors down the corridor. As he was going through the desk drawers, trying to find out if there were any clues as to how exactly he was meant to do his job, there was a knock at the door.

He opened it to find the King, awkwardly holding a large square package wrapped in brown paper.

"Alistair, what are you doing? Couldn't you have found a servant to carry that?"

His friend laughed and sidled into the room through the narrow doorway. The package made walking a challenge. "Probably," he said as he carefully leaned his burden against a chair, "but I'm usually halfway through something before I realise I can ask someone else to do it, and by that stage it's too late. How do you like your study?"

"Extremely classy," Alim said. "I'm wondering what I'm going to use it for, to be honest."

"Well, everything you've been using mine for in the past few weeks, naturally. You need your own space. Much as I'm going to miss you sitting by the fire undermining all my decisions."

"Hey, you're just down the corridor. If we leave our doors open we can probably shout insults at each other."

"And I'm sure that won't bother the rest of the palace."

"What's that?" Alim asked, pointing at the package.

"That, my friend, is a gift. From the people of Denerim. Or at least, the people of Denerim who have the capacity to commission things like this. Can you guess what it is?"

"Looks like a painting."

"Observant of you. Shall we open it? I haven't seen it yet."

"Do let's," Alim said, moving towards it and taking hold of the paper. "A bit like Satanalia, really. Although we didn't really celebrate it in the Tower."

"The Chantry wasn't too big on it either. Well, at least not in the "giving gifts" capacity, any way. They were certainly big on the spending-five-hours-in-services part."

Alim pushed the paper off the gilded frame and caught his breath, staring for a moment. Alistair fell silent as well, his fingers on his lips, pondering.

"They didn't get my hair right," Alim said finally.

"They didn't get mine right either," Alistair said, sounding forlorn.

They were silent for a few more moments. "Dragon's good though," Alistair said.

"I remember it being more red," Alim replied.

More silence. Alistair gave a little cough. "Portrait gallery?" he said.

"Mmm. Yes I think so."

"I was going to suggest you put it behind your desk. Might be good for intimidating people who are less than enthusiastic about your ideas."

"I think it might intimidate me more," Alim said. "Call me paranoid, but the thought of having the archdemon looking down on me as I work isn't really that appealing."

"No, I can see how that would be a problem."

They grinned at each other, remembering the rooftop. When the knock at the door came they were both startled.

"Come in," Alim called.

It was Eamon.

"Your majesty, I've been looking for you."

"Sorry, Eamon. It's been a busy morning."

Alim noticed that Eamon didn't acknowledge his presence and folded his arms across his chest.

"Yes, unfortunately every morning seems to be these days."

"What is it?" Alistair asked.

"Perhaps it would be better discussed in private?"

"Oh I don't think so," Alistair replied. "I'll end up asking Alim for advice on anything important any way - you may as well get it over with the once."

Eamon came around to the front of the painting, and ran his eyes over it critically. "Mmm. A good likeness. Although I think the dragon was more red."

"That's what I said," Alim commented. "We're thinking it will go in the portrait gallery. Alistair suggested up behind my desk but I'm not so keen on the archdemon staring at me all day." Alim watched the Arl's face and he noticed a slight twitch at the corner of his eye at the mention of Alistair's name.

"No indeed," Eamon said gravely. "I can see why that would be distracting. In any case, your majesty, it's about your... encounter last night."

"Ah," Alistair said.

"Encounter?" Alim asked, cocking an eyebrow.

"His majesty chose to have the current Arl of Denerim clapped in chains and sent to the dungeons," Eamon said.

"Vaughn?" Alim said, unable to stop the laughter bubbling on his lips. "Why that's wonderful, Alistair! Did you just do it for fun or was there a reason?"

Alistair rolled his eyes. "Miranda caught him trying to rape her maid," he said. "She brought him to me at dagger point, actually. Is there a problem, Eamon? I assumed - considering Chantry law - his Arling was now forfeit."

"Ah... well, yes it is. Technically. But..."

Alistair folded his arms across his chest and pursed his lips. "You're going to tell me there's a political reason why it wouldn't be a good idea, aren't you?"

Eamon had the decency to look uncomfortable. "Vaughn has several valuable trade contacts with Antiva..."

"No," Alistair said.

"I'm sorry?"

"I'm not going to free him. Or give him back his Arling, Eamon. He's a snake. From what I've heard he used to make free with the elves in the alienage on a regular basis - I won't have a rapist as the highest ranking noble in Denerim aside from me."

Eamon coughed. "Well, it's your choice, of course, Alistair. You'll have to pass the arling to another noble, you realise?"

"You know, Eamon, I actually thought of that myself this morning. Must be the crown, rubbing off on me or something. But I don't have much of an idea about which noble would be best for the job. I thought maybe Teagan? Who would you recommend?"

"While Teagan would be an excellent choice, your majesty, his kin ties to you might cause grumbles amongst the other nobles - they'll think you're favouring my family. Not wise at the beginning of your reign. Bann Alfstanna is a good woman, however, who has served you well so far. I believe there is a younger sister who can take over Haldorn as well."

"Sounds like an excellent idea, Eamon, I'll arrange an audience with her for tomorrow. Or the next day - or whenever my secretary decides I have time," he rubbed his hands together and took a breath. "Now if the two of you will excuse me, I've promised my betrothed a tour around the palace gardens."

Alim's eyebrow shot up, and he took in Alistair's soft smile. _I wonder what happened between _those _two last night, _he thought. There was obviously something to tell on the romance front, and he vowed to corner Alistair at another time during the day and find out what. "I'll call a servant to arrange this painting to be hung, shall I Alistair?" Alim asked him.

"Absolutely," Alistair said, waving his hand over his shoulder as he left.

"He seems quite taken with the Cousland girl," Eamon commented once they were alone. Alim rang the bell behind his desk to summon a servant. It would take some time to get used to having people _waiting _for him to find them something to do.

"Yes," Alim said. "She _is _rather captivating, though. And Alistair's always had a weakness for damsels in distress."

"You think she's in distress?"

Alim shrugged. "I don't see how she couldn't be."

"We'll need to keep an eye on her influence over him," Eamon continued. "This Vaughn situation... for one. I know Alistair believes he can make his decisions in black and white, but those trade contracts are.." a servant entered and Alim directed him to the painting and gave brief instructions. The Arl stood awkwardly during the exchange. When the servant had retreated, taking the painting with him, Alim took a deep breath.

"Alistair's not going to change in that regard, Eamon," he said. "I'm afraid trying to get him to would just be a waste of time. And I wouldn't worry about Miranda Cousland - Alistair would have stripped Vaughn of his Arling no matter what she said."

"I suppose so," the Arl sighed. "Sending him to the Chantry certainly didn't prepare him for a life of politics."

_Or anything else, _Alim thought to himself. "That moral compass of his saved your wife and son, Eamon," he said instead. "If it wasn't for Alistair pointing out the right in every situation I would have made some truly regrettable decisions on the road. It's a good quality. Don't cheapen it."

"I... ah... of course not. It's just... different, that's all."

Alim smiled at the older man. "That's our Alistair," he said. The Arl mumbled his apologies and left. Alim ran his tongue around his mouth. Encountering Eamon these days usually left a bad taste there. It wouldn't be long before people would start commenting that he should return to Redcliffe - the Arling couldn't look after itself - but Alim knew Eamon didn't want to leave Alistair so early in his reign with only Alim as an advisor.

Once the Arl had left Alim sat at his desk and pondered. His staff - Wintersbreath, stood in one corner of the room - he went nowhere without it - and he eyed it for a long moment, thinking of what his life might have been like if he hadn't decided to stay with Alistair in Denerim. He probably would have had to go to Weisshaupt, he thought. Or travel the land and recruit more wardens to replenish those lost at Ostagar. Technically, he supposed, Alistair was Warden Commander in Ferelden as well as King, although he supposed that title, like so many others, would fall to him, given Alistair's status.

_Better than being locked up in the Circle, _Alim thought to himself.

It was some time later that there was a soft knock at the door. He looked up to see Zevran slip inside, grinning. Alim smiled back and stood. The other elf came to him and brushed some hair from his eyes before giving him a reasonably (for Zevran) chaste kiss. Alim's breath came a little shorter, as it always did when he was this close to his lover.

"Have you been sneaking about the castle again?" he said.

"These Fereldens and their palaces," Zevran said. "So many places to hide. So many interesting things to watch."

"Where were you this time?"

"I heard a rumour that our Templar and his lady were walking in the gardens, so I could not resist taking a look to see how he was getting along."

"Zev!" Alim admonished. "Poor Alistair is nervous enough about the whole thing without you poking that elegant nose of yours into his affairs."

"Ah, Alim, I was extremely discreet, I do assure you."

Alim couldn't resist. "What did you see?"

Zevran tutted. "Nothing of real interest. Save that the lady has overcome her aversion to being touched, to some extent. They were holding hands."

Alim grinned. "Sounds like progress to me."

"Still, I do think our young Alistair could benefit from some... instruction in the art of love."

"Leave him be, Zevran. He's got his own charms. And they're totally different to yours - incompatible you might say.

"Alas," Zevran sighed, then raised an eyebrow at Alim. "Still, they are compatible with some, are they not?"

Alim laughed and leaned in for another kiss. _Definitely better than being locked up in the circle, _he thought.


	9. Chapter 9

They walked in silence for a while. Alistair continued to marvel at the feel of her hand in his. Every now and then she would trace her finger along the back and it never failed to send a shiver up his spine. He was heading for a particular spot, tension settling tight in his stomach.

It was winding towards winter and most of the trees in the grounds had lost their leaves. They were both dressed for crisp bite of cold in the air and he thought she looked particularly pretty in her dark grey gown and blue cloak.

"Have you arranged to meet with Anora yet?" Miranda asked.

He sighed. "Yes. I'm going tomorrow. I'm not looking forward to it. She has a nasty glare."

"She does," Miranda said, smiling. "She used it very well when she was younger."

"I remember," he said.

"Have you considered what to do if she refuses your offer?"

He rubbed his hand through his hair. "Unfortunately, yes. Alim suggested we exile her, but I'm not sure that's a good idea - she's well connected and it's possible she could cause trouble for us even from overseas."

"So it's execution then?"

"Or perpetual imprisonment. I don't know which would be worse." They reached a bench next to the small lake at the edge of the palace grounds. They sat and looked out, enjoying each other's company as well as the crisp air. He reached into his cloak with his free hand, the other still holding hers.

"Here," he said. "Do you know what this is?" He passed it to her. She took the stem in her fingers and twirled it between them, examining it.

"It looks like a rose," she said, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. "But it's the wrong season. Why is it still fresh?"

"I.. ah I picked it in Lothering. More than a year ago."

Her face lit up in amazement. "How has it lasted this long?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. I found it growing next to the mill as we were leaving the village - it was the only flash of colour in the entire place. Everyone was so... broken there..." he trailed off. "They were just waiting for the Darkspawn to come and destroy them. Alim managed to convince some to leave, but most of them had simply given up hope. It was a horrible place. But then I saw this... and it made me think..."

"What did you think?" her voice was gentle.

"That there can be beauty, even in the darkest place," he smiled at her. "I want you to have it. It's the same thing I thought when I saw you in Howe's dungeon." He heard her breath hitch and her hand tightened on his for a moment.

"That's a lovely thought, Alistair," she said softly, but there was tension behind her words. He cursed himself silently.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I shouldn't have mentioned..."

"No," she said firmly. "No it's all right. I should be able to hear his name, for Andraste's sake. He's _dead_ after all." Her hand had tightened on the rose as she spoke.

"Miranda!" he said, catching her hand in his. The thorns on the rose had pierced her hand where she gripped it. "Maker, I'm an idiot," he said, taking the rose from her and opening her palm. Four bright spots of blood welled where the thorns had pierced the skin. She looked down at them, her eyes suddenly blank. He made as if to throw the rose to the ground but she stopped his arm and gently prised the rose from him with her uninjured hand.

"Don't you dare," she said. "I'm not having the first flower given to me by a man I like thrown away. And it's obviously magical in some way." She gently tucked the flower into her cloak.

"We have to do something about that hand," he said, pulling a hankerchief from his trousers and wrapping it around her. The blood was not flowing, but it slowly soaked into the white linen, exactly the same shade of red as the rose. "There are bandages in the armoury," he said. "Come on." They got to their feet and started back towards the palace.

"First flower?" he said as they walked. "You mean no one has ever given you flowers before?"

She smiled a little. "No," she said.

"I haven't asked you about... I mean before you were captured.. was there anyone at Highever? Had your mother arranged a betrothal for you?"

She sighed. "Not exactly," she said.

"Not exactly a betrothal or not exactly anyone..."

"There was someone - when I was younger." The question seemed to be disturbing her more than was warranted and Alistair stopped and looked down at her. Her face was clouded, her dark brows drawn together over her eyes.

"Do you mind me asking...?"

She looked up at him, but she was still frowning. "No.. it's just that.. well it's become a bit complicated..." she turned and started walking again.

"How so?"

"The someone I mentioned... was Howe's son."

"What?"

"It was a long time ago, Alistair," she said. "I was only fifteen. He was eighteen. We never.. did anything. But his father sent him away, and then... well..."

"Is he still alive?"

She shrugged. "I don't know. Last I heard he was in the free marches. But we didn't keep in touch. And.." she stopped again and looked up at him. "It doesn't matter," she said, taking his hand with her non-injured one. "Not any more."

"I'm sorry." He bit his lip, facing her now, and gently took her injured hand. "I... ah I really messed up this morning didn't I?"

She almost laughed. He could see the mirth behind her eyes and her mouth pursed. He suddenly wished she would - he hadn't heard her laugh yet and he had a feeling it would be a beautiful sound. "You didn't," she said, grinning instead. "Not at all. You're... very sweet Alistair. I love the rose. And it's good for us to talk about these things - we are going to be married after all. I don't want past problems leaping out at us when we don't expect them to."

"Oh look, the armoury," he said, relief washing over him. "Let's get you bandaged up."

There was a medical storage chest in the armoury and he rummaged through it to find the things he needed. The room was empty at this time of the morning - the palace troops kitted out and left very early and it wasn't time for a shift change, so they were alone. When he turned back from the chest with a poultice and some bandages he found her in front of an armour stand, fingering the buckles on a suit of leather armour.

"That was Leliana's," Alistair said. "Wade made it for her from Drakeskin."

"It's beautiful," she said. "Such workmanship! I didn't know Wade did work like this."

"You have to get him the right materials," Alistair said. "And catch him when Herren's not looking."

"Leliana was wearing this when we went to the Landsmeet," she said then. "I remember. Why didn't she take it with her?"

"She said she wanted to devote herself to the Chantry again," Alistair said, sounding a little bit melancholy. "They don't encourage their sisters to wear armour and backstab people."

"Howe took my armour," she said. "I never found it. My father had it made for me when I turned eighteen. I... wish I knew what happened to it."

"We didn't find any leathers at Howes I'm afraid," Alistair said. "Maybe he had them destroyed. Or took them back to Amaranthine."

"It doesn't matter," she said, but her hands were running over the green and black leather, fingering the studs here and there. Next to the armour stand there was a weapon rack that held, among other things, Duncan's dagger and sword. He joined her, and ran his hands over the sheaths.

He had wielded Starfang on the rooftop of Fort Drakon - the sword made from sky metal that Alim had fitted to him - a better blade he had never held, but he still loved the feel of Duncan's weapons. He liked to think something of the man stayed with them. They made Alistair feel safe.

"Those weapons.... they're special to you?"

"These were Duncan's," he said.

"Duncan?"

He laughed, a short laugh. "I forget, sometimes, that you weren't with us the whole way. Duncan was the commander of the Grey Wardens - before Ostagar. He recruited me. Saved me, you might say, from a life of lyrium addiction and mage hunting as a Templar."

"You sound like you still miss him."

"Oh I do. Every day. He was a good man." He sighed. "He said he was from Highever, actually, but I don't know what he did before he became a grey warden. He could have been a farmer - or a common soldier. He never did talk much about his past." He looked down at her, lost for a moment in memories. Then shook himself. "This isn't getting your hand bandaged," he said. "Come here, I'll get that fixed for you."

They sat on a bench near the armour stand and he set to work. The punctures weren't serious and they had stopped bleeding, but he carefully cleaned them and bandaged them, enjoying the feel of her warm skin. Her fingers were calloused, though, and he remembered how professionally she had wielded her daggers.

"Where did you learn to fight?" he asked her as he worked.

She smiled. "Oh, I badgered father and mother into training me," she said. "Although he refused outright to let me train with heavy armour. I had to make do with my daggers."

"He sounds like a good man," Alistair said. "I wish I'd met him."

"He would have liked you, I think," she said. "He didn't have much patience for life at court. Mother was the political one."

"Well, we'll probably take after them, then," he said, smiling. He tied the last bandage and reluctantly gave her back her hand. She inspected the bandage critically.

"Very professional," she said. "I suppose you had to do a lot of bandaging on the road."

"At first," he said. "Then Wynne joined us. She was far better at it."

"I wanted to ask you something," she said, one hand still fingering the knots on the bandage. "It occurred to me last night... um... when you.... dealt with Vaughn."

"Yes?"

"Would you spar with me? On the practice field? I... Liana and I have been doing some practice every now and then, but she's..."

"You mean fight?" he said, taken aback. "I.. don't know if that's a...."

"Please? I don't want to let my skills go rusty just because I'm going to become Queen. It's always been a part of my day and..."

"Well, if you want to I don't see why not.." he said, although privately he thought that Eamon and the other nobles would probably have a fit if they found out. "An hour after breakfast would do us both good actually. I've been eating too much cheese." He patted his stomach absently. "But it will have to wait until the day after tomorrow. I have a former queen to see."

"Thank you," she said. "I'll... see you at breakfast tomorrow then?" He nodded. She dropped a curtsey and left the room.

He turned back to Leliana's leathers. Although Alim had given them to her, she'd been quite clear that she didn't want them when she left Denerim. He pondered for a moment. Miranda was shorter than Leliana, but they weren't that different in size....


	10. Chapter 10

Miranda had no time. She had no idea that preparing for a wedding would eat up so much of her day. Other people's days, yes, but not hers. Today she had an appointment with the dressmaker - the same woman who had made her gown for the coronation - and it wasn't the first, or the last. She was bewildered why it had to take so many visits.

The wedding was to be held in a month - quite close to midwinter. A winter wedding gown was a strange enough request that she found herself in the centre of a fashion crisis.

"But milady, the fashion today is for the elaborate," the dressmaker protested.

"I don't care what the fashion is," Miranda said. "And in any case, am I not going to be Queen? Last I heard, it was the Queen who _set_ the fashions. I know Anora used to."

"But.."

"Expense is no object," Miranda said. "If you must, you can use the best materials you have on offer. But I want it simple, and I want to be able to breathe, and I want to be able to get up and down from the floor without help."

"Milady..."

Miranda raised her eyebrows and tapped her foot. "You don't have to wear it all day," she pointed out.

The elven redhead sighed. "I suppose not, milady. Well... we can change the design so that...." she sketched something that was at least, in Miranda's opinion, wearable, then took some more measurements and noted down the materials she would need. Liana was smiling in the corner as they worked and Miranda made a mental note to ask her what she thought of the designs - the woman had a surprisingly good eye.

Once the dressmaker had departed they had to meet with the wedding planner to discuss decorations and flowers, then the head chef to discuss the menu for the wedding banquet.

She had met with all of them at least four times before. "Why in Andraste's name can't these people just take the instructions I gave them the first time and write them down or something?" she said, exasperated, when the chef had left. "And why do I have to be consulted every time? I thought that was what servants were for!"

"They probably want to make sure you're not offended, milady," Liana said. "Some brides like to take an interest in these things."

She sighed. Whilst she was by no means dreading marrying Alistair, she was certainly dreading the ceremony. _And what came after._

"What do you think his majesty will wear, milady?" Liana said, almost wistfully.

"I'd guess armour," she said. "That's what Cailan wore when he married Anora."

"Oh, I only saw him in armour at the coronation. He looked so handsome!"

She eyed her maid with a smile on her lips. "Liana, I have a feeling you have a crush on my husband to be," she said.

The elf's hands flew to her lips and she gasped. "I... I'm so sorry milady, I didn't mean.."

"It's quite all right, Liana. I know you're too sensible to act on it. Just try to remember he's a human being, will you?" _And probably not well equipped to resist seductive young women throwing themselves at him, _she thought to herself. _Although considering what he told me last night, he probably wouldn't know what to do if she did._

"He was just so.. last night when he..."

"Knocked Vaughn unconscious with a single blow? Yes, I sort of thought so myself. Liana, how _did _you end up getting yourself in such a position with that odious man?"

The elf frowned. "I was serving him at table, milady," she said darkly. "He kept... touching me. Some of the other girls as well, but mostly me. When I told him I was leaving for the night and he could keep his hands to himself, he followed me."

"You would have been better off not letting him know you were going," Miranda said. "In his state it probably sounded like an invitation."

"I think breathing was an invitation to that pig, milady," Liana said. "Some men are like that."

She looked out the window. "Yes," she said.

_The first time was on the road to Denerim. She was unconscious when they undressed her. Bleeding from a head wound, and a cut on her thigh. She woke to a heavy body over her - familiar - she had embraced him many times - this man who was a friend to her father - like an uncle, a protector. They were on the hard ground. It was cold. She could smell grass, and damp earth._

_He was running his hands over her body, pinching and squeezing. He didn't speak. She thought she was dreaming, at first, until he pierced her. The pain was too intense for her to be dreaming. He grunted as he shoved himself into her, over and over. She didn't cry out. It was too late to cry out. Too late to struggle. He had already won._

_The second time he had her brought to his quarters, naked. She attacked him with her bare fists and feet, but he laughed and pushed her down, drawing a dagger and cutting her across the stomach, using her own blood as a lubricant to make the act easier. Unarmed she was no match for him._

_The third time he stationed guards at his doors and told her if she didn't do what he told her, he'd cut off her fingers._

_After that she only dreamed of killing him._

She blinked. Her hand was fingering her gown, just over the place where the scar still lay. The day was grey outside in Denerim. She remembered the rose Alistair had given her that morning and looked at the dressing table, where it now sat in a small crystal vase Liana had found. _He's dead_ she had said. Why was it so hard to remember that, yet so easy to remember everything else?

"In any case, milady, it seems Vaughn will be exiled. I can't wait to tell Shianni and the other elves in the Alienage. They'll be so happy! He was truly a horrible man."

"Exile's too good for him," Miranda said fiercely.

* * *

They were met at the gates by two Denerim soldiers. Alim and Zevran flanked Alistair, behind them were three more palace guards.

"You've never been here, have you Alim?" Alistair said as they went through the gates.

"No," he said. "You can't have spent much time here either, though. Duncan gave me the impression that you'd been wondering Ferelden for a while before you got to Ostagar."

"I was stationed here for the first few months after my joining," Alistair said. "Basic training. But the blight cut that short."

"It cut a lot of things short," Alim said. The Denerim soldiers showed them to the second floor, and the set of chambers where Anora was being held.

Alistair hesitated at the doorway.

"She will not eat you, my friend," Zevran said.

"No," Alistair replied, "but she might... I don't know.. use sarcasm or something. That would be worse."

"Buck up, your majesty," Alim said. "You've got the power here, remember?"

Alistair sighed and pushed open the door.

Anora was still beautiful, still poised, and still - Alim could tell immediately - angry. She stood as they entered, and although she was required to in the King's presence, she did it as slowly and insolently as possible. Alistair did not fail to miss the implied insult.

"Alistair," she said.

"It's your majesty now, Anora," Alistair said shortly.

"Of course it is, your majesty," she said. "What brings you here?"

"I have an offer to make you," he said.

"You have only one thing that I want, _your majesty," _she said.

"I'm afraid it's not about what you want any more, Anora," Alistair said. "But about what you can have. I'm prepared to offer you Gwaren."

"You'll _give _me my own Terynir? How very generous of you."

"Considering your father died a traitor by Ferelden law," Alim said. "Alistair has every right to strip you of your title and exile you, Anora."

"If he was truly worthy of the throne, he would do that," Anora said. "I certainly would in his place."

"Yes, yes, I'm sure you would have had me executed and a statue put up to honour your father's treachery if you'd managed to keep the throne," Alistair said, crossing his arms over his chest. "But you didn't. The Landsmeet supported my claim and now I'm King and you're...."

She spread her arms. "Nobody?"

"I was going to say a sodding nuisance, actually," he finished. "But you're a nuisance with a lot of talent and the Blight has left us remarkably short on that. I don't want it wasted."

"What are my options, your majesty?" she asked.

"You take Gwaren, administer it with all your trademark efficiency and I don't chop off your head. Simple, no?"

"And how much freedom will I have once I retire to my estate? Will I be welcome in Denerim? Or do you expect me to take orders and be your puppet in the north?"

Alistair let out an explosive breath. "I _expect_ you to perform your duties as Teryna," he said, and Alim was surprised, both at the ring of command he heard in Alistair's voice, and the shocked look on Anora's face. Alim supposed she was used to the old Alistair - the one who had gone quietly to the Chantry and accepted anonymity rather than be a threat to his brother's throne. That was before the archdemon, though. Before Duncan's death and Loghain's treachery. "I have no desire for you to be my puppet. I meant it when I said you had talent, Anora."

She looked a little less certain. "And... my freedom?"

"Will be limited," he admitted. "You will be free to move about, absolutely, but you _will_ be watched. I promise not to interfere with the administration of Gwaren, beyond what is normal for a king, but if there is any sign that you might be raising an army to challenge me, you will be executed."

Anora turned from them and walked to the barred window. Her back was ramrod straight and her body tense. Alim could sense that she didn't like the offer. "I hear you're to be married soon," she said finally.

Alistair cocked an eyebrow. "Yes," he said warily.

"Miranda Cousland?" she said.

"Yes."

"Well, I suppose she's a logical choice."

"Logic is certainly part of it. Are you going somewhere with this, Anora?"

She sighed. "No. I suppose not. I accept your offer. Can I return to Gwaren as soon as possible?"

"Whenever you like. I hope you will remain for the wedding, however?"

"Of course."

"We can arrange to have you accommodated at the palace, rather than here," Alistair continued. "Or if you prefer, you can move back to your estate."

"I would prefer to return to my family's estate, if it's all the same to you," she said. "I believe it survived the darkspawn attack?"

"Remarkably well," Alistair said. "Although I think your staff have dispersed."

"I can arrange these things, Alis... your majesty."

"I'm sure. Feel free to call on me at the Palace once you are settled."

She curtseyed elegantly.

Outside Alistair seemed preoccupied. When they were ensconced in the carriage Alistair asked: "You don't think Anora _wanted _to marry me, do you Alim?"

Alim looked at Zevran and the assassin shrugged. "I think she wanted to be Queen," Alim said eventually. "If you'd made the offer she probably would have accepted. Especially if she knew it was a choice between that or exile. Or death."

Alistair shuddered. "I can't believe she would even consider it," he said. "Not after... what I did to her father."

"Politics, my fine friend," Zevran said. "It is a strange bedfellow. People will do many things when power is in question."

"I must admit I didn't think she would take the offer," Alistair said. "Just goes to show how much I know about this whole King thing."

"You'll learn, Alistair," Alim said.

"You know, I spent ten years in the Chantry learning all the canticles by heart. I don't think there's any room left in my head."

"Recite Threnodies for me," Alim said.

"How about you recite the Canticle of Silence for me instead?" Alistair said.

_"The Old Gods will call to you, from their ancient prisons they will sing...."_ Alim started.

"Or shut up," Alistair interrupted. "That works for me too."


	11. Chapter 11

At breakfast the next day he was secretive. He had a smug look on his face that didn't budge. When she asked him about it, he looked a little sheepish, then said "You'll see... after breakfast." She cocked an eyebrow at him, but he just grinned.

"How did the meeting with Anora go?" she asked.

"She accepted the offer," he said, sounding a little bit surprised.

She chewed and nodded. "I thought she might. She's a practical woman, in the end."

"I think she... ah.. I think she expected that I would propose to her. After the Landsmeet."

"Most of the nobility were surprised when you didn't," Miranda pointed out.

He shook his head and looked out the window. "I don't think I'll ever understand them," he said softly.

"I don't think she would have accepted you," Miranda said. "Not then at least. She may be cold, but she loved her father."

"You think she would have, after?"

"She likes power," she replied, shrugging. "She and Cailan were a perfect match, really. I wouldn't say he hated being king, but he certainly thought it got in the way of having a good time. Anora gave him a lot more free time than most kings get."

"I've heard.. rumours, that he wasn't exactly faithful to her..."

Miranda smiled a little at that. "Aren't you a royal bastard?" she said. "There are very few kings who stay in the one woman's bed."

He flushed delightfully. "Are you finished?" he said after a pause. She nodded. "I have a surprise for you if you'll come down to the armoury."

She cocked an eyebrow. "The armoury?"

His colour returned to normal and he got to his feet. "If you're still serious about sparring, that is?"

She was surprised at how eager she was to get down there, but more surprised by what she found. Alistair took her straight to the armour stand where the drakeskin was.

"I had Wade re-size it for you," he said, grinning. "Your dressmaker gave me the measurements. He complained a bit, but I think it will fit."

She touched the leather, feeling the smooth hardness and the slight tingle of magical enhancement. It truly was a thing of beauty. "But.. Leliana...."

"Call it a permanent loan," he said. "If Lelli ever asks for it back we can re-size it again. But these are a gift." He lifted two sheaths from the weapons rack.

She took them from him hesitantly. Matched daggers. She drew one from the sheath - it was perfectly balanced dragonbone. "Oh, Alistair, they're beautiful," she said.

"Call them an engagement present," he said, smiling. "Want to try them out?"

She nodded.

"Let's get these up to your rooms so you can change."

Half an hour later she was down at the practice field, feeling more like herself than she had in months. The drakeskin fitted her perfectly, the feeling of two daggers sheathed on her back was familiar and she could almost imagine she was going down to meet her father for one of their training sessions. There was a spring in her step.

When she reached the practice field Alistair was already there. He was wearing heavy plate - but it wasn't the golden suit he'd worn for the coronation or at the landsmeet - the suit that Cailan had worn. This armour was a rich embossed blue with two griffons in gold on the front. He had a matching winged helm under his arm and a sword and shield on his back, again not the set he had used in his duel with Loghain. There he had used Maric's blade and Cailan's shield - calculated theatrics, she knew, to make his claim for the throne more legitimate. This sword was shining blue metal and the shield had the same pattern of griffons on the back.

"That's the grey warden crest, isn't it?" she said as she approached. He nodded.

"The shield was Duncan's," he said. "The armour... we found it at Soldier's Peak. It used to be worn by the Warden Commander. I suppose technically it belongs to Alim now, but he doesn't have much use for heavy plate."

She grinned. "It suits you."

He ran his eyes over her, lingering, she noticed along the neckline of the armour, which was a little lower than she usually wore. "Not half as much as that Drakeskin suits you, my lady," he said, and his voice was a little rougher than normal. She felt a twinge of fear, but it wasn't accompanied by any specific memories, and it came with a flush of heat to her stomach. Alistair cleared his throat and they moved to the centre of the field. "Have you sparred against someone in heavy armour before?" he asked as they both put on their helms.

"Only Fergus," she said as she drew her daggers. Alistair drew his sword and settled Duncan's shield on his arm with easy grace. She was struck by how much more comfortable he seemed, as though being armed and armoured were his natural state . "And I suspect he held back."

"I sparred with Lelli and Zev on the road."

"Did _you_ hold back?" she asked, grinning.

He shrugged and smiled a little. "Maybe for Lelli. Once. But I regretted it."

"Do I need to ask you not to?"

"I probably won't listen to you if you do," he said. "I'm afraid I'm a bit like that."

"Such a gentleman," she said. The helm left his face in shadow, but she suspected she had made him blush again.

Two daggers against a longsword and shield was not an even fight, and both of them knew it. Alistair was better protected, had longer reach and greater strength than she did. If this was a real fight, she would cut her losses and run - one advantage to leather armour over heavy plate was the ability to run faster than a donkey with its legs cobbled. However, as her father had pointed out so many times during her training, sometimes you can't run - sometimes you have to do the best you can with what you've been given.

In her case, that was speed.

Their sparring was more like a dance - Alistair was the stationary partner - he spent much of the time spinning on the spot, using his shield to block her body rather than her daggers as she ducked and weaved around him. Twice he managed to push her to the ground, but she was too quick for him to land a finishing blow, twisting out of the way and dancing behind him or to the side. She admired the way he used both sword and shield as weapons - a practical approach that had everything to do with experience and almost nothing to do with perfection of form.

After fifteen minutes they were both breathing hard. He was grinning a feral grin - obviously enjoying himself, and she was covered in a sheen of sweat.

"Stopped holding back yet?" she asked him between breaths.

His only answer was to charge, knocking her backwards with his shield. She reacted quickly, kicking out and causing him to stumble, grabbing at his sword arm with one hand. Their momentum pulled him down with her. He dropped both sword and shield to avoid crushing her and they found themselves on the ground, his arms either side of her head, his body above her. For a moment she was fine, actually enjoying the moment of closeness. His face was inches from hers and he was breathing hard with exertion. A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth and she found herself thinking that maybe it would be nice if he bent his head a little closer....

But his weight shifted and suddenly it wasn't fine - she felt trapped and her vision went dark and she was screaming at him to get off her, pushing at him with the hilts of her daggers, thumping against the griffons on his breastplate and twisting desperately.

His weight was gone then, and she realised what she'd done, but couldn't stop herself from curling up where she lay into a ball the way she'd done _so many times before after he left her, in the cell, on the floor of his rooms, in his bed, the harsh sound of his laughter echoing in her bones as he buttoned his clothing or spat on her or kicked her in the stomach as a parting gift. _

"Maker's breath, I'm so sorry," she heard him say. She opened her eyes to see him kneeling next to her, his helm in his hand and the other stretched towards her, not touching, no, but wanting to, she could see. His face was full of anguish and hurt and something else she couldn't name that touched her deeply enough to make her realise where she was and she unclenched herself slowly, taking a deep breath and pulling herself up to sitting.

"Are you all right?" he asked. She nodded, unable to speak for the moment. "We'll stop, I should have realised it might be too much..."

She felt anger boiling in her and it was all of a sudden too much to contain. "Sod it," she swore. His eyes opened wide in surprised. "Don't be sorry, Alistair. I should be apologising, not you." She got to her feet and collected her daggers, ramming them into their sheaths. She felt a powerful urge to hit something, but kicked a clump of dirt instead. "I'm so _sick _of this," she said. "I killed him. He's _dead. _Why is he still...?" She pulled her helm from her head and ran her fingers through her hair, pulling it loose from its tie. She made her way to the edge of the field where there were benches and sat on one, turning the drakeskin helm over in her hands, lost in contemplation. Alistair gathered his shield and sword and followed her, sitting a few feet from her on the same bench.

There was a long pause. He simply looked at her, waiting. She wondered what he was waiting for. She couldn't imagine anything he could say that would make her feel better, but his presence was comforting.

Finally he spoke. "This is probably going to sound stupid," he said. "And I don't even know if I want to make this offer - but.. do you want to talk about it?"

She blinked. "With you?"

He shifted uncomfortably. "If you want," he said. "But I don't know if I'm the best person..."

"Why not?" she said. She knew her tone was short, but she figured he would forgive her.

"Well, I'm a man, for one," he said. "And... we're getting married and..."

"Do you _want _me to talk about it with you?" she asked. "Do you want to hear what he did to me? How many times? _WIth what?"_

Alistair looked for all the world like he wanted the ground to swallow him up, but he didn't back away, and his eyes never left her face. "If you think it would... I would do anything to help you," he said hesitantly. "I just don't know what I _can _do."

She hugged herself. "I..." she started. "I don't think I want you to know," she said finally. She tried to smile at him, but she had a feeling it looked more like a grimace.

"I can't imagine what it must have been like," he said. "And you're right - it's probably a good thing that I can't. But I don't think it's healthy for you to hold it inside. I can call for Wynne to come from the Tower..."

She shook her head. There was another pause. Eventually he got to his feet. "I'm sorry," he said again. "I have to go. Eamon's going to be wondering where I am and there are fifty things I need to do before tonight. Do you want me to call for Liana to come?"

"No," she said. "I'll be all right." He nodded and turned. "It's about the loss of power," she said suddenly. He turned back to her. "The actual... act wasn't what was important. Not in the end. It was that he _could _do it to me. Whenever he wanted. It wouldn't have mattered if he'd only done it the once, then thrown me in a cell to rot. He was trying to prove to me that I had no power - no choice. Do you understand? That's why it's so hard to let go, because..." she took a deep breath. "Because in the end I didn't get that power back. Even when I killed him. I tried... twice I tried to kill him on my own and I failed. If you and Alim and the others hadn't come I'd still be there. Or I would have given up and tried to kill myself. _He would have won._"

"But we did come," Alistair said. "You're free now."

"Oh Alistair, I wish I was. But what just happened..." she gestured to the field. "That shows that I'm not."

He closed the distance between them so rapidly she didn't even realise he was moving until he was directly in front of her. She looked up. He held out his hand. She took it and stood. They were so close, now, she could feel his breath. The heavy plate was cold in the autumn air but she felt warm. "You _are_ free," he said softly. "You just need to realise it." His eyes sought hers and she felt dizzy suddenly, at the amount of feeling she saw there. He leaned forward, slowly, giving her time to back away if she wanted, but she was suddenly unable - and unwilling - to move. She tilted her head upwards and felt his lips on hers for the first time and it _didn't _matter what Howe had done. She _could _forget him and have this - only ever and always this - his soft lips, his gentle hands in her hair, stroking, calming, pushing the memories to the back of her mind and away. She opened her mouth and brought her own arms up to his face and felt the roughness of his skin and the softness of his hair as he pressed closer and held her, his arms around her without restricting. It felt safe, rather than confining. She sighed against him as they finally broke apart, resting her cheek, which was suddenly too hot, on the coolness of the gold griffons on his chest.

"Don't you have to go?" she said after a moment.

"Never," he replied.


	12. Chapter 12

When he got back to his study, he was shaking. He wasn't certain whether it was from the exertion or the kiss, but his body was certainly protesting at something. It didn't help that every few seconds he flashed to the feel of her lips on his, or the curve of her breast above the leather armour, or the feel of her dark hair in his fingers. _Certain _parts of his body were clamoring for the kind of attention he was _most definitely _not allowed to apply according to the brothers at the Chantry and it had taken all of his Templar discipline to get up to his study without it being embarrassingly obvious that he was _not _thinking about trade routes or how to deal with the elves in the Alienage or any of the other things he was supposed to be dealing with before the day was out.

He rang for a servant before he sat down. Cheese would help, he thought. There was nothing like a full stomach to distract him from... other wants. Once he was behind his desk he let the other thoughts crowd in. Part of him was afraid. He loved Miranda, he was certain of it. He was beginning to think she might feel the same about him, and that was at once terrifying and electrifying.

But on the practice field, before she had snapped, he had been so overwhelmed with _want... _If he hadn't been so very conscious of her past that every single move he made towards her was second and third guessed...

Were all men like Howe, underneath?

There was a knock at the door and Alim entered, followed by a servant. "Ah," he said. "Good to see you. Are you hungry? I was just going to call for some..."

"Cheese?" Alim said. "Trying to distract yourself from something?"

Alistair cocked an eyebrow. "Hunger," he said, not entirely untruthfully. "It's been over an hour since breakfast, after all."

"I could use a snack."

He gave instructions to the servant and motioned for Alim to sit. "You wanted to see me?" his fellow warden said.

"Yes," Alistair replied. "I've been thinking about the Alienage. Ever since Loghain closed it off during the Blight I've been trying to think of a way to make it less..."

"Depressing?" Alim said.

"Yes? More integrated? Less dingy?"

"Less like an alienage," Alim finished, grinning.

"Exactly. And I think I've thought of a way, but I wanted to run it past you and see if you think they'll agree with me."

"I left the alienage a long time ago," Alim said.

"But the circle never quite beat it out of you," Alistair replied. "I know. You wouldn't have helped Jowan if they'd managed completely turn you into a circle mage. Or joined the wardens for that matter."

"I got the impression Duncan wasn't going to take no for an answer as far as joining the wardens was concerned," Alim said. "But yes, I remember being in the Alienage. And it wasn't as depressing as you might think. We had our own way of life - it was.... familiar and comfortable. We were poor, but a lot of people are poor and that doesn't stop them from being happy."

"No, but nobles thinking the Alienage is their own personal whorehouse does," Alistair said grimly. "We need to bring the elves into the city more - and not just as servants or shopkeepers. They need to be seen as equals, or the situation with the Tevinters could conceivably happen again. Not here," Alistair said as Alim started to say something. "Never here. But there are other port cities with alienages and we have to start this in the capital."

"What do you propose?" Alim said, sounding intrigued.

"I want to give the elves a seat on the council," Alistair said.

Alim's eyes widened and he sucked in a deep breath. "Alistair.." he said. "That's.... that's a big step. And it's not going to be a popular one."

"How so?"

His friend stood and started to pace the room. "I wasn't going to tell you this," he said after a moment. "But there's been some... talk about me being your chancellor. Zevran's been keeping his ears open and doing some..."

"Sneaking?"

Alim grinned. "You could say that. Some gentle enquiries, let's say. Apart from a few key nobles - notably Fergus Cousland and Bann.. sorry Arl Alfstanna, most of them aren't happy with the appointment."

"Because you're an elf?"

"That's part of it, certainly. They're not too keen on the mage thing, either."

Alistair clenched his teeth. "I notice you didn't mention Eamon in that list."

Alim shook his head. "I'm sorry, Alistair. But I'm pretty sure everyone thought Eamon would get the position - including Eamon."

"You're the hero of Ferelden," Alistair said. "Surely..."

"They love me," Alim spread his hands and smiled ruefully. "What's not to love? But they don't want me to rule. That's your job."

"You're saying if I appoint an elf to the council they'll think it was your idea?"

"Probably."

"Huh. So I won't even get credit for my own great ideas," Alistair ran his fingers through his hair. "I still think it's worth doing. Should I counter it by having a beat-your-elf-servant day or something?"

Alim let out a burst of laughter. "The sort of people who are going to object to it think every day is beat-your-elf-servant day," he said, then sobered somewhat. "If you're serious about it, I think it's worth doing," he said. "But you just need to know that its probably going to have repercussions."

"Calling for cheese has repercussions these days," Alistair said. "Can you have Zevran keep an eye on it? And do you think Shianni will accept the position?"

"Shianni? She's an excellent choice. But I'd recommend letting the elves choose who they send, rather than you making it for them."

"Do you think they'll choose Shianni?"

"Almost certainly."

"Then that's fine. I'll prepare an official document and make an announcement in the next council meeting."

"I'll take it to them, if you want," Alim said. "I haven't been back there since the battle - I'd like to see how it's faring."

Alistair looked at his friend for a long moment. "Take Zevran and some guards with you," he said. "I don't want anyone thinking you walk around unprotected."

"You know, I think you're beginning to get the hang of this politics thing."

"Maker save me," Alistair said.

"Before I run off.... how are things going with your betrothed? Zevran said you were at the practice field with her this morning."

"How did...? Never mind. I should realise by now that Zevran knows everything I do."

"It saves time to assume that, truly."

He sighed. "You know, I'd managed to get through that entire conversation without thinking about her... more than once or twice. You did have to bring it up, didn't you?"

The door opened and a servant entered with a platter of cheese and bread. Alistair motioned him to put it on the table in the middle of the room and the two of them sat down to munch.

"So, not going well then?" Alim asked as they ate.

Alistair allowed himself to smile. "It's complicated. But we're.... making progress."

Alim cocked an eyebrow at him. "Is that a euphemism?"

"No," Alistair said shortly. "I only know one of those, remember? In any case, she's..." _beautiful, wonderful, everything I ever dreamed of.... but.... _

_... so damaged._ He sighed.

"Now that, my friend, is the sound of a man in love."

He felt himself blushing. "I just wish I could revive Howe from the dead and kill him again," he said. "Or let Miranda do it. Over and over. I think it would do us both good."

"I wouldn't be surprised if there would be a market for repeat Howe killings," Alim said. "Oswyn would be in for a few goes. Alfstanna too."

Alistair absently popped a piece of cheese in his mouth and went to his desk. "I'll write up that documentation for you," he said to Alim. "I think it would be a good idea to get this sorted before the wedding. Can you go to the Alienage this week?"

"Absolutely."

"Good."


	13. Chapter 13

Alim had a hard time finding Zevran. The man was like a fade spirit sometimes. He'd show up at Alim's rooms at Maker-awful times of the night (not that Alim minded when he did) and regale him with tales of what the patrons at the Gnawed Noble were getting up to, or he'd stick close to him for days on end, attentive and loving as though they were a newly married couple.

Alim liked the unpredictability - it was one of the reasons he'd fallen in love with the man in the first place, but sometimes it would be nice to know exactly where he was.

When he finally found the Antivan, he was, unpredictably, in his rooms, polishing his daggers.

"I didn't think you even knew you had rooms at the palace," Alim said.

"Oh, I like to have a place to call my own," he said, grinning. "What is it you desire?"

"What I desire isn't exactly why I'm here, unfortunately. Alistair has a job for us."

"Indeed? Does it require my professional expertise?"

"Only if you call stopping me from getting stabbed in the back your profession. A bit of a change from your original brief, I know."

"Where are we going?"

"We're going to take a trip to the place I grew up," he said.

The Alienage was actually in better repair than most of the city. Alim put it down to the fact that it had always been made of flotsam and easily scavenged materials, so far was easier to fix. The bridge that the archdemon destroyed, however, was still unrepaired. The elves had bridged it with some boards, but Alim was thankful they could enter from the market district instead.

Shianni met them near the landmark tree. They had sent no word that they were coming, but when a mage, and several palace guards enter the alienage, it was a good bet the news got around quickly. Ironically, Zevran was the only one in their party who actually looked at home, although he was somewhat more heavily armed than your average alienage elf.

The red-haired elf was as beautiful and as prickly as always. "Grey Warden," she said. "It is good to see you again. Yet you're accompanied by.."

"An entourage of protectors, I know. I'm sorry. But I'm afraid my new position warrants this kind of thing."

She cocked an eyebrow. "To what do we owe the pleasure?" She asked.

He presented her with Alistair's letter, which she took with hesitant fingers. "King Alistair sent me to ask two things of the Alienage elves. Firstly, he'd like to invite you, your father, Soris and Valendrian to his wedding next month." Shianni's eyes widened. "Secondly, he'd like to offer you a seat on the royal council." Her jaw dropped.

"He wants to do _what?"_

Alim grinned at her. "You don't really need me to repeat it, do you?"

She shook her head, looking down at the rolled parchment as though it might bite her. "A seat on the royal council? That's.... "

"Insane? Lovely?"

"A surprise," she finished. "I didn't think he was that interested in us."

"You'd be surprised what he's interested in," Alim said. He heard Zev chuckle from behind him.

"I'll need to show this to my father and Valendrian," Shianni said. "Won't you.. ah..." She was going to invite them into her house, he knew, but they certainly wouldn't all fit.

Zevran spoke to the guards, who agreed to stay outside, and the three of them entered Shianni's home.

Cyrion and Valendrian arrived shortly afterwards. Shianni spoke briefly to them before opening the letter.

"This says that we have the right to choose who represents us on the council," Valendrian said as he read.

"Alistair believes you should have that right," Alim said. "Otherwise the elves might simply believe we picked someone who would agree with him. He doesn't want that. We want you to have a say in the council, not just be an elf for the sake of an elf."

"As you are?" Shianni said to him.

"I'm the hero of Ferelden!" Alim said, smiling at her. "And to be honest, I'm more likely to be branded a mage than an elf," he waggled his fingers at her. "Sparkly fingers are sometimes worse than pointy ears."

She laughed.

"May we have some time to discuss this?" Cyrion asked them.

"Of course," Alim said. "Alistair would obviously like your answer before too long though."

"I don't anticipate it taking more than a day," Valendrian said. Alim noted he was smiling in Shianni's direction as he said it.

Shianni escorted them back outside. "I heard a rumour yesterday," she said as they walked. "That that noble bastard of a whore Vaughn was to be exiled and stripped of his Arling."

Alim blinked at the ferociousness of her language. "Indeed," he said. "You heard correctly. Did Liana tell you the whole story?"

"She said he tried to rape her outside her mistress's quarters. That her mistress stopped her and dragged Vaughn to see the king."

"That's all true, from what I can gather."

"She also said that the King knocked him unconscious. Is _that _true?"

Alim and Zevran both let out guffaws. "I hadn't heard that part," Alim said. "But to be honest I wouldn't be surprised. You have to remember, Shianni, that he was a soldier before he was King - he has a somewhat more direct way of doing things than most nobles."

"I think I may be going to like him," she said.

"You sound as if you were familiar with Vaughn," Alim said. He suddenly realised that if she was familiar with him....

"Oh yes," Shianni was watching his face as she replied. "Yes I was very familiar with him."

"Then I hope you agree with the King's decision to exile him."

"I only wish there was a better punishment," she said. "But yes, I agree that he should be exiled. Hopefully he's less than cautious on the roads."

Alim took Shianni's hand and bowed. "I hope to see you at the wedding, Shianni."

"It's been good to see you again Alim," she replied. "I must say I hardly recognised you, you were so young when you left. But I'm glad that you've made something of yourself. I'm glad that you got away from the tower. You should go and see your parents, when you get the chance."

"I should," he said. _I really, really should. _"And I will. Soon. Take care Shianni."

She smiled at him.

"They'll send Shianni," Alim said to Zevran as they left the alienage. "I predict a note from them tomorrow morning saying that much."

"I agree," Zevran replied. The entered the market district, which was busy, even for this time of day. Nearly everyone who had originally fled the city had returned, along with an influx of refugees from Lothering and other Blight affected areas. The city was almost back to itself, and Alim was glad so little of what the Blight had done could now be seen in its streets.

"Have you started drawing any of this mythical salary our Templar promised you for your services?" Zevran asked.

"Do you mean have I been paid yet?" Alim said. "Yes, actually. On the first of every month. What about you? You're not lacking at the moment, are you?"

"All my needs are catered for, my magical one," his lover replied. "However I believe it is customary to give a gift to the happy couple on their wedding day?"

"Maker's breath," Alim swore. "I'd not even thought of if."

"Perhaps we should avail ourselves of our current locale, and try to find something that would be appropriate," Zevran said.

"You want to spend some money," Alim said.

"Unquestionably," the Antivan replied, grinning.


	14. Chapter 14

He didn't sleep well the night before the wedding. First it was too cold in his room (soon to be _their _room, he kept thinking). Then once the servant had "fixed" the fire it was too hot. He tried different combinations of blankets. Tried sleeping naked, but nakedness had other connotations at the moment and he was driven by a combination of imagined humiliation (what if she _laughed? _what if he couldn't... what if he _could _but..) and lust back into his normal sleeping trousers. Tried pacing the room for an hour. Tried digging into his secret stash of cheese.

He even considered calling for a bath, but given it was now the middle of the night he decided it would simply be cruel. They would wash and groom him in the morning, he knew, until he shone the way he had for his coronation. Asking servants to jump to his whim might not have lost the novelty yet, but he was sure it would for the servants a long time before it did for him.

Finally he gave up, threw on a shirt, some boots and a warm cloak, and went for a walk.

He found himself up on the battlements. He wasn't dressed warmly enough, but he didn't mind. The night was clear - rare in a Ferelden winter, and he admired the spread of stars, breathing in the cold air. He was to be married tomorrow - to a woman he loved. He held onto that thought and turned it over in his head, examining it from every angle. It was a good thought.

* * *

She didn't sleep well the night before the wedding. She had suspected she wouldn't. On the practice field that morning she had pressed Alistair hard, they had tried to wear each other out, and her muscles were protesting, even though she had indulged herself with a hot bath to soak away the soreness.

It was difficult, lying in bed, to think of anything other than what would happen the following night. She didn't mind the ceremonies - she was used to formalities, used to smiling when she was supposed to, standing and sitting on command, but..

The last few weeks had been good weeks. She tried to dwell on that first kiss in the practice field, the gentleness, the restraint he had displayed. They had not kissed again. Their interactions were shy for a few days after, and she could sense the desire in him, but she had not acted on it. Part of her thought she was testing him and she felt bad about that - she wanted to know if he could stop himself from doing what he so obviously wanted. Part of her was disappointed that he had been able to.

She was tense with conflicting emotions.

He loved her, she knew. It was written on his face whenever he looked at her and she could feel it in his touch when they brushed hands. It was a frightening thing, but also a comforting thing. She didn't know how she felt in return, save that when he smiled at her her heart beat faster and she felt safe whenever he came into the room.

It was a good feeling, whatever it was.

* * *

The problem with being the groom in a wedding was that there was really very little for him to do before the ceremony. It would take perhaps half an hour to get into his armour and make himself presentable with Fergus, Zevran and Alim's help (he'd made Alim promise not to let Zevran near his hair) but apart from that all he really had to do was wait.

He'd never been a very patient man.

"In Antiva," Zevran said as they gathered for breakfast - it felt odd not to have Miranda there, but still - "it is customary for the groom to get blind drunk before the wedding ceremony."

"It may not be customary here," Fergus said, "but it's certainly common. Say the word, your majesty, and I'll send for some ale."

"I don't think it would be a good idea in Alistair's case," Alim said, and Alistair remembered an embarrassing night at Tapster's Tavern after Bhelen's ascension to the throne. He blushed.

"I don't want to make this any more difficult than it's already going to be," he said. "Maker's breath, do you have any idea how _long _this ceremony is?"

Fergus laughed and nodded. "Don't worry. It goes quite quickly if you're actually taking part. Take pity on the people who have to watch, rather."

"You need to eat something," Alim said. Alistair looked at his full plate of bacon, eggs, bread and sausage. He felt like throwing up. "You're going to miss lunch, you know."

He took a bite of sausage that tasted like sawdust and tried to chew it. He would do no one any good if he passed out from hunger during the ceremony.

* * *

Miranda, on the other hand, had too much to do before the ceremony. She was up at dawn, breakfasting alone for the first time in months. She found she missed Alistair's presence - it would have calmed her. After breakfast her "stylist" arrived - who tutted over the state of her hands and proceeded to soak them and rub oils in them and pull at her cuticles and paint her nails. She'd never really bothered with manicures before, but she found the constant chatter of the elven woman relaxing.

After her hands were done, her hair had to be arranged and she had to be dressed. The gown was a little more ostentatious than she would have liked, but at least it didn't weigh more than she did, and she was able to kneel and stand which was important given the amount of times she would be doing so. Much the same shape as the dress she had worn for the coronation, this was cream and white satin, dotted with small diamonds down the bodice, the skirt flaring to the floor and finishing in a long train that would pin up to make walking easier. A white, fur lined cloak completed the ensemble.

Her hair was held back from her head with a simple clasp, her head left intentionally bare - for at the end of the ceremony Alistair would crown her as his queen. She hadn't seen the crown as yet, although she did know it wasn't the same one that Anora had worn, which was a relief.

She surveyed herself and cocked an eyebrow. It was a bit like being gift-wrapped, she thought. She hoped Alistair appreciated it, although she suspected he would have preferred it if they could get married in a simple Chantry with no one but each other, possibly both wearing armour. The thought made her smile.

* * *

"Next time," Alistair whispered to Alim as they stood together on the dais, "I want to get married at sea."

"You do know this is only meant to happen once, don't you?" his friend hissed back. They were getting disapproving looks from the Grand Cleric, but Alistair figured she would just have to deal with it. It was his wedding, and he was king after all.

Alim looked, if possible, more uncomfortable than he felt. Alistair realised he'd never seen the mage in anything but mage robes - to have him dressed in court clothes was something of a novelty. Zevran had eyed the mage with what could only be described as lascivious hunger when he'd come out of his quarters and Alistair had laughed. Alim did look handsome, Alistair had to admit, although he would never say it to his friend.

Alim had had no qualms, however, about telling Alistair he looked "eminently do-able" when he'd finally finished dressing. The mage was incorrigible sometimes.

When the Chantry doors opened, Alistair found he was holding his breath. Alim nudged him. "You'll need to do that breathing thing," he said softly.

"Shut up," Alistair hissed. "This is a big moment."

She walked slowly up the aisle. He knew intellectually that Fergus would be giving her away, but he didn't see her brother. She could have had an archdemon next to her and he wouldn't have looked, however. His heart had sped up so much that he thought it would escape from his chest.

The Chantry wedding march was being played by the organ - he'd always hated it, but tradition demanded these things. It seemed to take forever for her to reach the dais. She lifted the front of her dress slightly and he caught a glimpse of white and glittering shoes and a deliciously slim ankle before she was in front of him, looking up at him, a delicate blush on her cheek and a nervous smile on her lips. He expelled the breath he had been holding and smiled back at her, taking both her hands in his and wishing he could kiss her. The ceremony began.

* * *

Fergus' hand on her arm was like an anchor. There were so many people. She'd thought she'd be used to it, after the coronation, but this time they were all looking at _her. _She felt naked, despite the gown. The shoes pinched - she knew they would, and the corset was too tight and... she wasn't at all sure she wanted to be doing this. Well, at least not in front of so many people.

He was waiting for her, looking a bit like he'd forgotten something. She saw Alim nudge him and whisper, and it was somehow reassuring to see the support in his friend's face. When he refocused his gaze on her, however, she felt a flush rising to her cheeks and her breath came even shorter. He was like a jewel - shining gold from the top of his head to the tips of his plate boots.

It was going to be cold, embracing all that metal at the end of the ceremony.

She wondered if he'd undress before coming to their rooms that night, or if she'd have to deal with all of those buckles for him.

Reaching the dais without falling over or fainting from lack of oxygen was a tick on her list of achievements for the morning. Next up all she had to do was marry a king. When he took her hands in his, however, she could only think of him as Alistair. A private corner of her mind already thought of him as _her _Alistair. Now it was time to make it official.

* * *

Alim watched the kiss at the end of the ceremony, wondering how Miranda would react. He was surprised to see how well they managed, and wondered exactly how much Alistair's gentlemanly manner had kept him from discussing with him in the past few weeks. They'd obviously kissed before, although Alim was amused to notice Alistair's hands wandering slightly downwards during the embrace. He seemed to remember he was in front of an audience in time, however, and the couple broke apart to tumultuous applause. The grin on Alistair's face, and the soft smile on Miranda's, warmed his heart and he wished suddenly that Zevran was with him rather than sitting with their other companions in the congregation.

There was a brief pause before the Grand Cleric continued with Miranda's coronation. A long speech about her duty that could have been said in one sentence (look pretty and get pregnant) was followed by a short and rather well crafted speech from Alistair, that was basically saying how much he liked her, and she knelt in front of him to receive the crown. It was a simple gold circlet with a front piece of delicately woven golden flowers - Andraste's Grace - and set with diamonds. It matched the ring Alistair had placed on her finger just a few moments before.

She stood again, to more applause, and the Royal Couple started down the aisle towards the exit. Alim and Fergus fell into step behind them, vastly relieved to be able to move, finally. He had stiffness in parts of his body he didn't know existed. Fergus' relieved smile told him that he was feeling almost exactly the same.

The four of them were cumbersomely loaded into the royal carriage for the trip back to the palace. Once inside, Alistair heaved a heavy sigh and leaned his head back. Miranda grinned.

"Thank the Maker _that _part is done with," Alistair said.

"Now you only have to greet every single noble in Ferelden and remember their names. Oh, and eat lots of food," said Fergus.

"And let us not forget... after that..." Alim started, but Alistair held up his hand.

"Just because Zevran isn't in here with us doesn't mean you have to provide lewd comments in his place," he said. Alim noticed he had Miranda's hand firmly clasped in his. She didn't seem to mind.

"How are you feeling, pup?" Fergus asked. Alim had heard Fergus call Miranda that before a few times and wondered where it had come from. It was the worst nickname he'd ever heard.

Miranda grinned. "My feet hurt," she said. "And it's difficult to breathe in this dress, but apart from that... remarkably well." She looked up at Alistair, who smiled back down at her. "I also seem to be married."

Alistair reached up with his free hand and stroked her hair. Alim was suddenly embarrassed.

"Um.. you're not alone here," he said. "And one of the other people is related to your wife."

Alistair blushed and pulled his hand away. "Sorry, Fergus."

Fergus laughed. "It's all right," he said. "Just seeing that there's someone who thinks my sister is as beautiful as I do is a good thing, trust me."

It was Miranda's turn to blush.

They arrived at the palace.

* * *

Miranda knew that Alistair was having difficulty. He was a man of action - he needed to be on his feet and doing something, not sitting behind a table making small talk with people he barely knew. The smile on his face slowly became more wooden, the replies he gave started to repeat themselves. She stepped in where she could, but most of them wanted to talk to him and not her - believing, correctly, that in his hands the real power lay.

"How many more?" he hissed at her between his teeth when there was a short break in the congratulatory queue. "I'm beginning to digest my own stomach in hunger."

"Nearly done," she said, taking his hand under the table.

"Much as I wouldn't like to be standing up for all this time," he said, "someone should have realised how unsuited heavy plate was to the seated position. I do believe I'm beginning to chafe."

"A nice, warm bath after the banquet?"

"Mmm. I thought we had other things to do first," he said, running his fingers across the back of her hand in a quite... delightful way.

"Bann Wulff," she said, a little more loudly than was necessary. "So lovely to see you again."

The banquet passed as it must and Miranda found herself in her new quarters, _their quarters_ alone, having had Liana help her out of her gown and into a robe and nightgown. She stood in the middle of the room, suddenly terrified. Alistair was in the dressing room with a servant, having his armour removed. It was too late now, she thought, to back out of this. Part of her desperately wanted to.

Another part was listening for the rustling of noises in the room next door, trying to imagine what he was thinking.

When the door opened and the servant left, she hugged herself and turned to face him.


	15. Chapter 15

He shut the door behind him, finding it very difficult to catch his breath. Miranda stood in the middle of the room, the magnificent gown gone, dressed in a simple sleeping shift and robe. He had expected to find her at least sitting down. She looked up at him, and her eyes were wide. Her arms were tightly hugging herself and he wondered exactly what was going through her head. He hoped she wasn't thinking about _him_ _- _hoped at least some of her attention was focused in Alistair's direction. Hoped she was at least, a tiny bit, wanting this to happen.

"We don't have to do this," he said, even though the mere thought of her at the moment was enough to set his nerves on fire. "I meant what I said before. This is entirely up to you."

She took a deep breath. "No, I want to do this," she said. "I trust you, Alistair. And...." she closed her eyes for a moment. "And I don't think it's going to get any easier. No matter how long we wait."

"So we can wait forever," he said. She smiled sadly at him.

"I need this," she said firmly. "It... it's part of... my revenge."

He cocked his eyebrow. "Your revenge?"

"If I don't.. if we don't... then he wins. Do you see? He wanted to break me. He wanted to break all the Couslands. But I killed him. Fergus survived. And I'm Queen now. But it won't matter if... if I can't wipe the memory of him from me."

He stepped closer to her. She looked slightly spooked, so he stopped before he was touching her and stood still. "I love you," he said.

She gave a breathless laugh. "Alistair, you don't know me."

"I know enough to know what I feel," he said. "You're beautiful, and you're strong, and I'm happier than I've any right to be that you agreed to be my Queen, but I... I can't do anything that might hurt you."

"What if I need to be hurt?"

He smiled ruefully and reached out a hand. She watched it like she might watch a bee, but didn't move as he gently brushed a strand of hair from her forehead. She closed her eyes, standing as still as stone for a moment as he let his fingers linger on her face - so, so gently, feeling for any sense that she might want to pull away. Instead she gave a soft sigh and leant her face into his hand until he was cupping her cheek. She put her own hand over his then and he caught his breath at the shock of her touch - her willing hand on his. She stepped forward until the cloth of her robe brushed against him. He forced himself to stand still.

"How about this," he said, his hand still in hers, standing so close and yet still separate. "You tell me what to do. I'll do it. I won't move unless you say so."

She looked up at him, the pain in her eyes accompanied by something else - was it amusement? "No matter what?" she said.

"On my oath," he said.

A small smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. "I think I like the sound of that," she said. She gently released his hand. "Very well then. Stand still, my king."

He nodded.

She circled him for a moment, surveying. He wore a linen shirt, loosely tied at the front, and trousers. His feet were bare. He felt himself flush under her scrutiny, wondering what she might ask him to do. She circled a few times, before coming to stop in front of him, contemplating his chest. She reached up then, to the laces of his shirt and deftly untied them, opening the neck to expose his mother's amulet. She let one finger rest on the amulet, lightly, before trailing her fingers down his chest. He drew in a breath. Her fingers were warm and slightly calloused. Her expression was so serious, her bottom lip caught between her lips, that he couldn't resist smiling.

Seemingly unsatisfied with his state, she lifted the shirt and encouraged him to take it off. He obliged, trying not to feel subconscious. He'd been shirtless in front of women before - through necessity on the road - Leliana or Wynne or even Morrigan had bandaged his wounds, but none of them had looked at him the way she was looking at him now - her eyes darkening, her mouth slightly open. He felt himself growing hard and hoped it didn't frighten her, although she wasn't looking in that direction it wouldn't be long before she noticed.

She placed her hands flat on his chest then slowly ran them down to his abdomen, feeling the muscles under the skin. She kept them in contact with him as she moved behind him, running her hands up his back to his shoulders and down his arms, feeling every inch of his body like a blind man might feel the face of a loved one. When she reached his hands she lingered, tracing his fingers with her own on one, then the other, before lightly embracing him from behind, resting her head on his back. He let his own head fall back and closed his eyes, savouring the feeling of her arms around him. It felt so right, he didn't know that he ever wanted her to let him go.

She did though, and moved back to the front of him. Her eyes fell to his trousers and he saw them widen a little. He grinned sheepishly and shrugged. She contemplated him for a moment, then seemed to come to a decision and moved forward, kneeling in front of him to unlace his trousers. He gasped as her fingers brushed him inadvertently and she looked up quickly, her hands hovering, but he nodded and breathed deeply, searching inside for the remnants of his templar discipline in order to stay still.

She eased his trousers of his hips, then his smalls. She stopped a moment, once he'd been exposed, although he couldn't see the expression on her face. His ears were turning red with embarrassment as well as desire and he tried very hard to control the impulse to apologise, or ask what she thought, or do anything that might spoil the moment. She continued to ease his trousers down, letting her hands run over his thighs and shins, stopping here and there to examine a scar or a mole. He didn't think he knew his own body as well as she would by the end of this.

When his trousers and smalls were completely removed she turned her attention back to his hard length. "Alistair, can I...." she looked up at him, her hand hovering maddeningly close. He wanted to scream at her _yes, yes, sweet Andraste, yes!_ - but nodded instead, his breath coming more raggedly.

She gently placed her hand on him, curling it around his length and lightly sliding it upwards and _holy maker _it felt so good he couldn't stop himself from letting out a moan. His hands clenched and unclenched at his sides as she explored him gently, cupping, twisting and caressing to a point where flashes started to go off behind his closed eyes and his knees were dangerously weak.

"Miranda," he said, hoarsely. She looked up quickly, saw his dilemma and stood.

"I'm sorry.."

He let out a gasp of laughter. "Sorry?" he said. "Don't be. But... I don't think I can take any more of this. We need to... ah, take a break? Or..."

She cocked an eyebrow and looked at him in such a way that he found it increasingly difficult to breathe. "Or?" she said.

"Perhaps we could move on?"

She stood very still in front of him, her eyes wide and her expression solemn. Alistair held his breath, balanced on a knife edge of concern for her and burning... all consuming desire. She nodded suddenly and slipped off her robe and shift, so quickly that Alistair barely had time to register that she was doing it.

"Hessarian's mercy," he breathed. She stood before him, naked and glorious. Her pale skin was slightly flushed - he wondered if it was with embarrassment or something else. She was biting her lip again and he longed to kiss her, enfold her... enter her and possess her. Instead he raised his eyebrows. "My lady," he said. "I am yours to command." _I am yours._

She took a breath. "I think.." she said hesitantly. "I think I would like you to kiss me."

He took a step towards her and saw her tense. He stopped but she shook her head violently suddenly and closed the distance between them herself. The heat was searing as she pressed her body into his and angled her face upwards and he felt dizzy, so close to her at last. He bent his head, slowly, and brushed her lips with his as softly as he could. They were warm and mobile and he could barely believe it when he felt a brush of her tongue, gently teasing, parting his own lips and finally pushing them open completely. He pressed more firmly, bringing his arms up around her shoulders, trembling with the effort of controlling himself when he wanted to crush her to him and devour her lips with his tongue. Instead he gently brushed his tongue along hers, savouring the taste and the sensations even as his heart hammered against his ribcage and other parts of his body screamed at him for attention.

It seemed a long time.. or just a second later that they broke apart. They were both breathing hard and his arms were still around her. "Maker," he said softly. "That was..."

She was smiling. It was an open, beautiful smile and he could see no hint of fear in it. "It was," she said, nodding slightly. "Shall we perhaps.. move to the bed?"

He swallowed and nodded. She sat on the edge and he sat next to her. His eyes couldn't seem to move from her breasts - they were... just amazing. He was shocked out of his contemplation by a silvery laugh - something he had never heard from her before and startling enough for him to move his gaze back to her face. "Would you like to touch?" she said, arching her back slightly. A groan escaped his lips that he might actually be allowed to.. he raised his hand hesitantly. She took it and pressed it to her breast, laughter still dancing in her eyes.

The next little while, or eternity, he spent with her, exploring in much the same way she had. His hands found places where she was ticklish, or sensitive, other places that made her gasp or shudder. She continued to have complete control, moving his hands or whispering directions to stroke _here _or touch _there _ and he was thoroughly enraptured and completely delighted at her instructions. His desire had not abated, indeed it throbbed with increasing urgency, but something seemed to have loosened in her to an extent that he even dared to hope she was actually _enjoying _his attentions and it was so astounding, so absorbing that he could have continued all night.

It was only when his hand moved between her legs and brushed at the warm wetness he found there that the tension returned. She gave a sharp intake of breath and he felt her shudder - differently to before. He could feel the panic coming from her in waves and he immediately broke away from her, pulling back and sitting on the bed as she curled up, clasping her arms around her knees. Her face was suddenly wild and her breath came in gasps, her eyes tightly shut.

"Miranda," he said, trying to keep his voice level. "Miranda look at me." She shuddered again and her eyes remained closed. He didn't try to touch her. "Please..." he needed to reach her, "..my love, please. Look at me." She opened her eyes and he could see the tears welling and it hurt him - she had never cried in front of him before. "I am _not him."_

Her eyes were clouded with memories but they were focused on him. She drew in another shuddering breath. "Not.." she said.

He shook his head and reached out a hand, stopping just before he reached her, waiting for her to touch him in return. She unclasped her hands slowly, so slowly, then reached out and touched his fingertips lightly with hers, before gripping his fingers so tightly it hurt. "Alistair," she whispered. He nodded and used his other hand to brush her hair away from her eyes. She leaned into his hand again and he cupped her face, sliding forward on the bed until he could reach her mouth. Tension started to leak out of her. "Alistair," she said, more firmly, as though she needed to be reminded who he was.

"Yes," he said, inches from her now, leaning forward. "Alistair." He covered her lips with his again and kissed her long and deeply, and her fingers released his hand and came up into his hair, pulling his face closer to hers as she stretched out on the bed. He moved forwards and above her, his leg sliding between hers and rubbing against her. She gasped into the kiss and he rocked himself back and forth a little, until he felt her hips lift of the bed. She ground herself into his thigh, her own thigh rubbing deliciously against his erection. She pulled back from the kiss and looked up at him, eyes almost totally black now, face flushed.

"Now," she said. "It needs to be now."

"Are you certain?" he asked softly.

She nodded. He positioned himself between her legs, nudging and probing until she reached down to guide him in.

"Oh holy _maker," _he said as he slid into her warmth. She was tense though, and he forced himself to stay still and look into her eyes, waiting. She drew in a shuddering breath and placed her hands on his chest, looking up at him for a long, agonising moment, before nodding.

He began to move, and it was better than anything he'd ever imagined - so, so much better that he almost lost control immediately. Instead he gritted his teeth, trying to think of something... anything other than the amazing feeling of her surrounding him... clenching.. _Maker how do people do this for longer than a minute..._ He moved slowly out, then back in, keeping his eyes on her face and tried to measure his pace, watching for her reaction. She kept her own eyes fixed on his, although her mouth opened and she started to gasp - a different gasp, one that urged him to go faster, following his instincts and his desire as he thrust into her with increasing urgency. He felt her legs come up around his waist and her back arched letting him slide deeper and suddenly it was too much - far too much and he let out a loud groan as he felt himself release, thrusting again, and again and one more time as he heard her cry out his name and clench around him with all her considerable strength.

He collapsed on his elbows, bracing his weight so not to fall on her, panting. She reached up a hand and cupped his face, breathless herself, but silent. He wanted to preserve the moment - hold onto it forever, but he saw tears start to leak from her eyes and her body started to shake under him.

"Maker's blood, I'm so sorry.." he started to say, then pulled back from her quickly. She let out a little cry, reaching out her arms. "No.. oh, no it's not that..." she said between gasps for breath. "I'm sorry. It's just.. I need..." He touched her face tentatively and she didn't flinch, although the tears were still flowing and her body was shaking with sobs.... he couldn't help but give into the impulse he was feeling and gathered her into his arms, pulling her to his chest and holding her. She didn't pull back, just sobbed against him, moulding her body to his and he marveled at how perfectly she fit. He stroked her hair with one hand, bewildered and amazed, making soothing noises until the shaking subsided and she was still.

"I'm sorry," she said softly, after a few moments.

"It's all right," he said. "But...."

"Yes?"

"Just to be certain... you weren't crying because of anything I did? Were you?"

She laughed. "Not at all. Well, not in the way you think," her hand was tracing patterns on his chest. It felt delightful. "I... just needed to let something out, I think."

"So it wasn't too terrible then?"

"No," she said, and he could feel her lips curve in a smile. "It wasn't terrible at all. Are you absolutely certain you've never done that before?"

"I think I would have remembered," he said.

"Then let me be the first to congratulate you, your majesty."

"The first and the only, I hope," he said.

She propped herself up on an elbow and examined him, her grey eyes clear and piercing. "Thank you, Alistair," she said.

"Any time," he replied. "Maker, any time _at all._ Just say the word." He found he couldn't stop himself from grinning and his mood must have been infectious because she grinned with him, before settling back down with her cheek on his chest.

Alistair continued to stroke her hair and wonder at the feel of her next to him. He didn't realise that she'd fallen asleep until he looked down again. Her face was peaceful and contented and he hoped in some way that he was the cause.

Gently he moved the covers and lay her under them, before getting back in himself. She murmured, but didn't wake and he guessed she must have been more exhausted than he. He watched her - the curve of her cheek, the dark lashes of her eyes and the soft fall of her hair across her forehead.

It was a long time before he fell asleep.


	16. Chapter 16

She woke the next morning to an unfamiliar bed and a warm body next to her. It took her a moment to realise who it was - not that she was in the habit of waking up next to naked men - but her mind was fuzzy with sleep and strange dreams.

When she realised it was Alistair the previous night rushed back into her consciousness and she found herself smiling.

He lay on his back with one arm flung above his head and the other draped over his chest. In the morning light she could more fully appreciate how battle-hardened he was. There were several long scars across his abdomen as well as lots of little nicks dotted around across his chest. The year he spent fighting the Blight must have been fierce indeed - not even her father had had so many scars. She remembered running her hands over them the night before and her hands tingled slightly.

He let out a sigh in his sleep and turned to face her, still sleeping. _He must have worn himself out last night_ she thought to herself. She was suddenly full of energy and slipped out of the bed as quietly as she could. Today they would be judiciously left alone for the morning - as a newly married couple they would be given the opportunity to get to know each other as well as possible. Alistair's duties could wait a few days.

She pulled on her robe against the chill and rang for some breakfast - figuring he'd probably be hungry when he woke - she certainly was. Then she sat in the chair by the large picture window overlooking the palace courtyard. A thin blanket of snow had fallen overnight, brushing the ground and eaves with white, softening everything.

There was a murmur from the bed and she watched as Alistair changed position again. She half wanted him to stay asleep for a long time - there was something comforting about watching him so helpless and content.

Instead the servant arrived with the breakfast, and although she was quiet, Alistair stirred and sat up. "Something smells good," he mumbled, rubbing his hair and looking confused. "Miranda?"

"I'm here," she replied. He let out a gust of breath as his eyes found hers and grinned.

"Thank the Maker," he said. "I was afraid for a moment that yesterday was a dream and we'd have to do the whole thing again."

"No," she said.

"Good," he said firmly. "Though there are some bits I'd quite like to do again, I'd rather face another archdemon that sit through that ceremony twice."

She laughed and his face softened. "You know," he said, "last night was the first time I ever heard you laugh."

"It was the first for a lot of things," she said.

He cocked an eyebrow. "Not the last I hope," he said.

She grinned at him. "I thought you were hungry."

"Mmm. Breakfast has lost its appeal. It'll still be there."

"So will I."

"Promise?"

"Absolutely."

Some time later, after they had breakfasted, they both sat by the window still indulgently refusing to get completely dressed, and surveyed the pile of presents packed in the corner of the room.

"Really, why do they think we need anything?" Alistair said. "It's not as though we're poor. Or unable to shop ... sorry, get others to shop for us.."

"I think they're supposed to convey personal messages of goodwill," she said, smiling. "I for one am extremely interested to see what your friend Zevran has decided to give us. The package is uniquely shaped."

Alistair blushed. "Oh, I can only imagine."

"Fergus said he'd give me our gift today, but he couldn't wrap it. I have a suspicion he forgot."

Alistair smiled a secretive smile. "Oh, he didn't forget. Actually he asked me to take you down to the stables when we'd finished here this morning."

"Really?" she was intrigued. "Perhaps we should get dressed then."

Fergus met them at the entrance to the stables. Both he and Alistair were grinning like idiots.

"Wasn't this supposed to be a gift for both of us?" she said.

Alistair shrugged. "I told Fergus that anything that made you happier was a perfect gift for me."

"And you're certain this will make me happy?''

"From what I've managed to glean from him about your checkered past at Highever, my lady, yes I am."

Fergus showed her into a stall, and she caught her breath.

"Oh, Fergus," she said.

Her brother had showed her into a stall that held a bitch mabari suckling six pups.

"She's Hugo's daughter," Fergus said. "I found her when I went back to Highever - she was only one of four who survived. I had her brought to our estate after we had the roof fixed, and she gave birth four weeks ago. We called her.... um..."

"What, Fergus?" Alistair said.

"Actually, it was Oren who named her," he said, apologetically. "It was meant as flattery, I think."

"What did he name her?" Alistair asked.

"Anora," Fergus said. Alistair broke into laughter. Miranda smiled with him. She remembered Oren doting on that litter - two years ago, but had forgotten what he'd named his favourite puppy. She was glad it had survived.

"They might not choose me," she said then.

Fergus shrugged. "There are six of them. And I think at least one will, pup. If Alistair is lucky one will choose him as well and you can have a pair."

"Oh, no," Alistair said. "I think I'll leave the dog ownership to my wife, thank you. Dogs and me.. we don't mix too well."

Miranda knelt in front of the animals. The mother mabari - Anora - looked up and panted at her neutrally. Most mabaris liked Miranda, she'd always had a way with them. The puppies clustered around her when she petted them.

"Thank you, Fergus," she said, picking up one and cuddling it to her. "I'll be sure to check on them every day."

"Um... you might want to take Anora back with you to Highever," Alistair said. "I don't really want the palace servants gossiping about her choice of name."

Fergus grinned and nodded.

* * *

Alim was nervous. He had been to council meetings before, and he was always a little bit nervous before them, but this time his gut twisted painfully as he sat waiting for the other eleven members to arrive.

It had used to be only ten others, plus the king. Now they had an extra.

"Don't worry, Alim," Fergus said, his presence next to him a comforting one. "They're not going to blame _you _for this."

"Oh, so you think they'll need to blame someone?"

"From what Alistair says about this Shianni woman, I'd be surprised if there isn't shouting by the end of the meeting. But there's usually shouting in these - you know that."

Alim bit his lip. Most of the shouting lately had been at him. His not-so-subtle attempts to lessen the chantry's hold on the mages of the circle had _not _gone down with some of the more religious members of the council. He expected those to be the ones who objected the most strongly to Shianni as well. His eyes sought them out - they were already here, always early, keen to solve start trouble. Bann Wulf. Bann Gweran and Bann Hilde. Three of twelve. Privately, Alim thought they were racist bigots. Publicly he acknowledged them as political opponents.

Their faces were grim and set, and gave away nothing to Alim's less than agile political senses. The biggest problem was, however, that he _knew _some of the other members of the council shared their views on certain points. Yes, elves deserved rights, but not _quite _as many as humans. Yes it would be nice if elves could own property outside the Alienage... as long as it wasn't close to _my_ house or _my_ business. Yes it made sense for elven servants to be paid the same as human ones, but not _my _elven servants...

Reasonable arguments _seemed_ to work against people like that.

Shianni slipped in almost unobtrusively. Alim privately thought, despite her rich clothing, that some of the council members thought she was a servant. When she took her place at the table (two seats down from Fergus) however, there was a slight murmuring.

Alistair arrived a few minutes later. These days the King of Ferelden looked a little like the cat who ate the canary. Three weeks past the wedding, it was no secret he doted on his new wife, and anyone who saw them together had no doubt that she doted on him in return. Alim hoped his newfound... experience would serve him well in the council.

The nobles stood as Alistair took his place at the head of the table, between Alim and Arl Eamon. He nodded before taking his seat, allowing everyone else to do so.

"First on the agenda," Alistair said, "I'd like to welcome Shianni, our newest council member, from the Denerim Alienage. As our newest member I've asked Shianni to present us with a list of concerns the alienage elves have at present."

"It'll be a long list," came a mutter from one end of the table. Alim couldn't see who had said it.

"Actually, it's quite short," Alistair said, fixing Bann Gweran with a sharp eye, and picking up a piece of parchment from his desk. "And it's quite reasonable. I think you'll agree. I took the liberty of giving each of you a copy."

Alim had read Shianni's list and agreed with Alistair that she was being extremely reasonable, given the current state of the alienage and the disparity of rights towards humans and elves. He didn't think the rest of the council would agree however.

Property rights. Shianni was clever. She asked for something that would not affect anyone but the most wealthy of elves - no normal alienage citizen could afford to buy property outside an alienage - it was that, more than anything, that kept them confined there. Despite the fact that they were not allowed to buy property in the city by law or own land rich enough to farm, simple poverty was the true barrier.

But if the law were altered - there were ways to get around money. The alienage elves would band together, pool their resources. Or borrow. It would be gradual, but it would work. And in the meantime, they could ask for other concessions.

Alim was impressed and hoped it would work.

The debate started.

* * *

"Well, that was less terrible than I thought it would be," Alistair said as they left the council chamber. Shianni had been level headed and intelligent in her responses. The council members had not been able to put forth a coherent argument against the proposal that didn't sound like bigotry, and given Alistair's views on that they hadn't lasted very long.

"It's good to be an absolute ruler," Alim said. Eamon had stalked from the chamber at the end of the meeting, although Alistair figured it had far more to do with Alim's supposed influence over Alistair than any actual bigotry on his part. He didn't believe that the man actively hated elves, he was as horrified as the rest of them when they'd found out about the Tevinter slave operation that Loghain and Howe had started. But something had twisted in the man, when he'd given Alim the chancellor position. Alistair didn't know how to bridge the gap between them.

He'd never known, to be honest. Ever since Isolde came onto the scene. There was a time, he thought he remembered, when they had understood each other, as much as a five year old boy and a thirty year old man could understand each other... which was quite a bit, he thought. If he could take himself as even slightly typical, his thought processes were remarkably similar now to what they were then.... but now....

Perhaps it was the years that separated them. Perhaps it was the experience. A small part of him whispered that perhaps he still hadn't forgiven him for sending him away. In any case, Eamon was becoming a problem and he didn't know how to solve it.

"The problem with being an absolute ruler in Ferelden," Alistair said, "is that you aren't."

Alim laughed.


	17. Chapter 17

_I just wanted to give a HUGE thank you to everyone who's following this story and the amazing influx of positive and constructive reviewing I've had for this story. I had no idea it would be so popular - it was just a little plot nug that grabbed me one night before I went to bed (needless to say, no sleep was had that night as I worked out the details!). I have been trying to give replies to all the reviews, but I haven't been able to say thank you to everyone who's put this story on alerts or favourites, so I want to do that right now. Thank you sooo much. I have never had so much fun writing before, knowing that I have an audience!_

_

* * *

_

When he got to his study, Eamon was waiting for him.

"We need to talk, Alistair," he said. There was something in his voice that made him feel like he was about to be sent to the Chantry again.

"Sit down, Eamon," he said. "I'm assuming this is important?"

"Yes. I'm going back to Redcliffe tomorrow and I wanted to... " the older man sighed suddenly.

"What is it?"

Eamon took the offered seat and ran his fingers through his hair. "Perhaps I'm getting old," he said. "But it seems like you're getting ahead of yourself, Alistair. The Ferelden nobility like their stability. If you threaten it you'll risk someone starting a rebellion against you."

"I hardly think granting the elves property rights is grounds enough for a rebellion against the crown," Alistair said.

"No, but I'm not just thinking about the immediate future here. You've left Anora alive, and no matter what promises she makes you can't trust her..."

"I'm not so stupid as to leave her unwatched..."

"And...."

"Eamon is this about Alim and the chancellor position?" Alistair asked finally. "I know you expected it to go to you, but you have to understand..."

"No, Alistair, it's not about that. It's about you being a young king, surrounded by young advisors in a world of old men and women who don't like change. You have to remember that it's only been thirty years since we rid ourselves of the Orlesians."

"That was a fairly big change," Alistair pointed out.

"We're in the habit of changing through violence," Eamon said, getting to his feet again and pacing the room. "Ferelden was a stable monarchy politically before the Orlesians came, but if we start falling into a cycle of rebellion - I doubt very much that it will ever stop. I don't want to see that happening again. We've had too much loss these past few years."

"You put me here," Alistair said. "You thought I could do this job. I want to do it the way it should be done, not the way it's always been done."

"And the reason I wanted you there, Alistair, is because you're a Theirin and you have blood ties to a time when we were independent and stable. It means something that you're Cailan's brother and Maric's son. Don't do anything to jeapordise that, Alistair."

"Here and I thought you meant it when you told Alim I'd be a good ruler," he said bitterly. "It's only the blood, isn't it? It's _always_ been the blood." He leaned back in his chair and eyed his former foster father. "I'm doing what I know is right, Eamon. And I'm not doing it blind - I have good advice from people I trust - including you."

"Just... be careful, Alistair. Guard yourself. Guard your people."

"I will, Eamon."

The Arl of Redcliffe got to his feet. "I'll see you in a few months," he said.

* * *

The attack came two weeks later. Alim and Zevran were preparing for a trip to Amaranthine - Shianni's words had been haunting him ever since his visit to the alienage.

"Are you sure you want to come with me, Zevran?" Alim asked as they picked out supplies in the market district.

"Oh, absolutely," Zevran said. "I must see the font from which you spouted. Such grace and beauty surely didn't come from common stock."

"Flatterer. Just be sensible around them, will you? I don't really know how they'll react to seeing me." _And I certainly don't know how they'll react to you._

"You have had no contact with them since you went to the tower?"

"A few letters here and there," Alim said. "But they don't add up to much. _We're moving to Amaranthine. You've had a baby sister. We're all well._ That's about it."

"Did you tell them of _your _life?"

Alim sighed. "What could I have told them?" he said, suddenly melancholy. _"Today I learnt how to set a person on fire with my mind. Next week they're going to put a demon in me and see if I can defeat it - oh and if I fail they're going to kill me. _Doesn't make for very reassuring reading."

"I suppose not."

They turned into an alley on their way back to the palace. Alim immediately knew there was something wrong, as did Zevran.

"Remind me again why we did not bring palace guards today?" Zevran hissed to him.

"Because usually Alistair assigns them to us and today he's in talks with the dwarves," Alim said. The alley was blocked at one end by two large men. They turned to see another pair behind them. "I guess we should have been suspicious of that straight away," Alim finished, unhooking Wintersbreath from its sling and sinking into a casting stance. Next to him he felt Zevran draw his daggers.

"How many do you think they'll throw at us, eh?" Zev said, starting to circle.

Alim started to count. Four at either end of the alley. Two more on the rooftops - archers. Oh, and yes, three more coming from that building over there. "Blast it. They've got themselves a pet templar," Alim said.

"Take him out first."

Alim didn't hesitate. He cast crushing prison on the templar. The battle was joined.

* * *

She was in the stables with the mabari when the messenger found her. She never went anywhere unaccompanied these days, and it took the elf man a few tries to get past her two palace guards, but when she heard the message she didn't delay.

"How long ago did they bring him in?" she asked as they walked as quickly as was possible up towards Alim's quarters.

"Only a few minutes before I found you, your highness," the servant replied. "King Alistair is still in discussions with Bhelen's men, so they sent me to you."

"Have the healers been called?"

"Yes, your majesty."

"Good. Go and wait outside the council chamber. My husband needs to hear of this as soon as possible. Do _not _tell him in front of the dwarven delegation, however, simply bring him here with all haste."

"Yes, your majesty."

She reached the door to Alim's quarters and took a deep breath before pushing it open.

Alim was kneeling by the bed, facing the door. There were two court healers in attendance as well, so she couldn't see the figure on the bed clearly. Alim looked up as she entered.

"Your majesty," he said, hastily getting to his feet. She waved a hand impatiently.

"Please sit, Alim," she said. "This is a desperate situation. No need for formalities. How is he?"

The elf mage's face was anguished. "They don't know yet," he said. She made her way around to his side of the bed and looked down.

The healers had stripped him down to his smallclothes and had started on his numerous wounds. There were slashes and punctures all over his torso - a spreading bruise that looked like it came from a cracked rib on the left side. But the main problem was a dagger thrust to the stomach.

"Did any of the attackers survive?" she asked softly.

Alim nodded. "There was a templar. I disabled him early in the fight. I sent the guards to collect him. He should still be out. I sodding hope so."

"A templar," she breathed. "That doesn't bode well."

Alim glared at her. "You're telling me. Where's Alistair?"

"Still in conference with the dwarves," she said. "He'll be here as soon as he can, Alim. I'm sorry."

The elf shrugged. "We realised something was wrong as soon as we got to the alley. They've been waiting for this - for an opportunity to get at me."

Zevran moaned and turned his head, but didn't wake. Alim's gaze immediately went to his lover's face. "If he dies because of this, I swear I will find and kill every single person responsible myself," the mage said between clenched teeth. Miranda was somewhat alarmed to see sparks dancing at his fingers.

It was at least an hour later when Alistair arrived. One of the healers had left, leaving a young mage to bandage. It seemed the magical part of the process was over.

Alistair's face was tense and angry as he came into the room. Miranda got the sense that he was tightly controlling himself.

"What happened Alim?" Alim explained as briefly as he could. "Could it have been the crows again?" Alistair asked when he'd finished.

"I doubt it," Alim said, "although I didn't have time to check the bodies. There were eight of them - if they'd been crows neither of us would have survived. Zevran should be able to tell you more if... when he recovers."

"The templar has arrived," Alistair said. "I'm going down to his cell after this. Is he stable?" the last was directed at the healer. She nodded.

"I'm pretty sure he'll live," she said softly. "But there's been a lot of internal bleeding. If he gets an infection..."

Alim drew in a shaky breath. "I'd like to come with you, then," he said.

"You don't want to stay?" Miranda asked.

"I won't do him any good here," Alim said. "I used all my reserves healing him on the way."

She touched Alim's shoulder. "I'll stay with him," she said. "You go with Alistair."

Alistair shot her a grateful look, but the tension in him didn't relax. "We probably won't be long," he said. She nodded.

* * *

Alim's mind kept circling around the same thoughts. They seemed to wind tighter and tighter inside him until he thought he would implode. _If he dies.. he won't die... I'll kill them all.... if he dies...._

Alistair seemed to be vibrating with tension and Alim had enough presence of mind to wonder what exactly he was thinking. Although his fellow warden had never actually _said _anything about his relationship with Zevran, when he'd first found out about it he'd looked... shocked. Although the Chantry in Ferelden was officially silent on same sex relations, he knew there were a lot of priests who believed what he and Zevran were was... wrong. Alim had never had the courage to ask if Alistair had inherited some of those views.

He did know that Alistair certainly didn't swing that way himself. He still smiled when he thought of the time near the Brescilian woods when he and Zevran had.... arranged an ambush for him.

That thought brought on a whole new wave of fear and tension and he pulled himself away from it. They were close to the dungeons.

Sergeant Kylon was standing guard outside the cell the Templar occupied, looking as grim and efficient as always.

"He's awake, your majesty," he said. "Not happy to be, but awake. He's demanding to see the Revered Mother, or the Grand Cleric, or someone religious - possibly Andraste herself. Not making too much sense to be honest."

"We'll make him make sense," Alistair said.

Kylon unlocked the cell and Alim caught his first glance of the Templar without his helm.

"Sweet holy _Maker," _he breathed.

It was Cullen.


	18. Chapter 18

The templar hadn't changed much since the last time they'd seen him - which considering his state then didn't say much for how well he'd been looking after himself. His cheeks were hollow, dark circles sat under reddened eyes. His hair was ragged and disheveled. They'd stripped him of his templar armour and he sat in the cell in a shirt and breeches. The once powerful shoulders were hunched, his thinness obvious to any eye. As they approached, he clenched and unclenched his hands convulsively and backed up into the corner.

"Stay away," he said. Alim found himself torn between pity and rage. Part of him wanted to tear the man limb from limb, but it was obvious his grip on sanity was tenuous at best. If they wanted to get any useful information out of him they would have to be careful.

"Cullen," Alistair said softly. "Do you know where you are?"

The templar turned his gaze on Alistair and nodded. "I'm in the palace dungeons," he said. "They said I attacked the chancellor. They're lying. He's an abomination, I tell you. I've known it ever since the tower..."

Alistair's face turned grim. "How long has it been since you've had any lyrium, Cullen?"

"Hah! Lyrium? They've been poisoning it. Ever since the tower fell. Ever since Uldred took Irving. I can't touch it. It will drive me mad."

Alistair motioned to Kylon. "Bring me a vial of lyrium. Make it two. And quickly. We're not going to get any sense out of him otherwise."

"As you wish, your majesty," the sergeant departed.

"Cullen, Irving is alive. He wasn't taken at the tower," Alim said.

"No. No, no. That's what they kept trying to tell me, over and over. But I know better. They don't have to look like abominations, you know. The demons stay inside, they wait until you trust them, then they strike. Why am I telling you this? You already know. You are one of them." Cullen turned his wild eyes on Alistair. "You need to stay away from him. You were a templar! Smite him. Drain him. Kill him. He's not who he says he is any more."

Alistair folded his arms and leaned against the wall of the cell. "We may as well wait for the lyrium," he said. "There's not going to be any sort of sense before then." Alim joined him. Cullen seemed not at all inclined to leave the cot, but buried his head between his knees, curling into a tight ball. "He's obviously not acting under the orders of the Chantry," Alistair continued. "They would have ensured he was taking his lyrium before letting him out of their sight. He must have escaped from the circle - gone renegade. I wonder how long ago?"

"Why didn't Irving inform us?" Alim asked. "We all knew he was.. unstable. I would have thought the First Enchanter would let us know he was loose. I got the impression Gregior was going to keep him on a very tight leash for at least a little while."

"I haven't had any word from Irving since the wedding," Alistair said. "He usually sends word through...." his friend stood up suddenly, looking extremely troubled.

"Alistair?"

"He usually sends word through Eamon," Alistair said slowly. "Much easier for the mages to let the couriers from Redcliffe pick up missives from the Tower on their way to Denerim. Much quicker."

"Do you think _Eamon _is behind this attack?"

"Maybe not directly," his friend said. "But there's such a thing as lying by omission." Alistair started to pace the small space, his hand on the back of his head. "Maker, I didn't think he was capable of this. I really didn't."

Kylon returned with the lyrium. "How are we going to get him to take it?" Alim asked.

Alistair sighed. "There's only one way I'm afraid. Kylon you'll need to hold him down." The sergeant nodded. Cullen started to scream - a high, tearing, desperate sound that grated across all of Alim's nerves. Alistair gave the potions to Alim. "You'll need to pour them down as soon as his mouth opens," he said. He clamped Cullen's face in one hand against the wall and used his other to block the man's nose. It didn't take long for Cullen to open his mouth for a desperate breath, and Alim quickly poured the first potion into his mouth. Alistair clamped his jaw shut and Cullen had to swallow or choke. He swallowed. They repeated the process for the second potion.

Alim felt sick, but there was no denying that the lyrium had the desired effect on the Templar. His muscles started to relax almost immediately and he drew in a large breath. Some of the wildness in his eyes retreated.

"Cullen," Alistair said. "I need to know who sent you."

"Sent me?" the Templar replied.

"Who sent you to kill Chancellor Surana? Was it someone at the Chantry?"

"No one sent me," Cullen said. "I knew it had to be done, so I came."

"How did you get the help of the men who were with you?" Alim said. He couldn't imagine Cullen in the state he must have been in when he reached Denerim managing to hire mercenaries.

"They came with me," Cullen said. "From the Tower."

"They weren't tower men, Cullen," Alim said. "Where did they come from?"

"Met me," the Templar said. His voice was slurring. "On the road. When I left the tower. Sent by the chantry. To help."

"The lyrium's making him dopey," Alistair said. "It happens sometimes, if they've been a long time without. Which Chantry, Cullen?"

"Didn't say. Didn't ask. Told me they were going to help me. Find the abominations. All of them. Kill them."

"Starting with Chancellor Surana?"

"He's the strongest. Closest to the king. Most important." Cullen's head dropped back on the cot and his eyes started to close.

"We should let him sleep now," Alistair said. "He's not in pain from the withdrawal any more, but it will be a few days before he's lucid."

"As lucid as he ever was," Alim said bitterly. "The man was broken at the Tower. We should have seen it."

"Was there anything on the other men that identified them?" Alistair asked Kylon.

"Regular mercenaries, as far as we could tell," Kylon replied. "Not part of any particular band, no distinguishing marks."

"Perfect," Alistair said glumly. "Looks like I'm going on a trip then."

Alim looked at his friend, puzzled. "Where to?"

"Redcliffe," Alistair said. "I need to see Eamon face to face, and I'm not waiting for him to come here." They left the cell, heading back up towards Alim's quarters. "He told me before he left..." Alistair said as they walked. "He told me to guard my people. I'm so sorry Alim. I should have.."

"It's not your fault Alistair."

"That's the thing. It's always your fault if you're king."

"Hey, I thought I was the real power behind the throne," Alim said, but his heart wasn't really in it. Alistair chuckled any way. "How do you know so much about lyrium withdrawal, anyway? You said you were never addicted to it..."

"No, thank the Maker. Duncan got to me before they started giving me my daily dose."

"So how...."

"The Redcliffe Chantry was cut off one winter, when I was seventeen or so," Alistair said, looking even more grim. "The Templars there had to do without for a long time."

"How bad was it?"

"There were only two stationed there at the time, but it was bad enough. One of the main reasons I was extremely glad to be recruited into the Grey Wardens. I was due to start my lyrium shortly after my twentieth birthday."

They reached Alim's room. He reached out to the door handle, and was surprised to see that his hand was shaking. He felt Alistair's hand on his shoulder. "Alim, he'll be all right," Alistair said. Alim looked back into his friend's clear hazel eyes, and nodded.

Inside, the second healer had left. Miranda was sitting at the side of the bed, holding Zevran's hand in hers. Alim was vastly relieved to see that he was awake. He turned his head as Alistair and Alim came into the room and even managed a weak smile. "Ah, I am somewhat embarrassed, gentlemen. You do not see me at my best."

Alistair smiled. Miranda got to her feet, relinquishing her position to Alim, and went to her husband, who hugged her and kissed the top of her head. Alim sat in the chair Miranda had been occupying and took Zevran's hand in his.

The King and Queen slipped out.

"Well, my sweet mage," Zevran said. "It seems you once again have me at your mercy."

Alim chuckled. "This isn't how I like you at my mercy, and you know it," he said. "What did the healers say?"

"Oh, the usual, I suppose. Don't do anything that might be considered enjoyable, ever again and you might recover."

"Ever again?"

"Come now, Alim. Far longer than is reasonable, in any case. But they were cautiously optimistic that I might some day be able to stand on my own feet."

"I'm going to take that as good news," Alim said. Zevran laughed weakly, then coughed. "Zev, don't ever do this to me again. You should have run. I would have been all right."

"Ah, you say this as though it was an option for me," he made a gesture with his hand, touching his chest. "This would not let me run, Alim. You were in danger."

"I don't want to lose you," he said.

"I am very hard to kill, no?" Zevran took a deep breath and Alim could see he was close to sleep. "So many years as a crow, you know they try to kill you as part of your training? You get good at avoiding death. It is a talent. Let me share it with you."

He leaned forward and kissed his lover on the forehead. "I love you," he said softly, but Zevran was already asleep.


	19. Chapter 19

Alistair's mind was racing. He had Miranda's hand captured in his own and was striding down towards his study. It took him a while to realise that his wife was having to trot to keep up with his long strides. He checked them a little. "What's the plan?" she asked.

"How long has it been since you've been to Redcliffe?" he asked her.

"Not since I was a girl," she said. "There was this boy there....mmm. What was his name? I don't think he told me. But he was locked in a cage..."

Alistair laughed. "I wasn't sure if you remembered," he said, an image of Miranda as a six year old suddenly came to him, standing at the bars of his self-imposed prison, contemplating him with serious grey eyes. And pigtails. She'd been wearing pigtails when she'd saved him. It had taken him a long, long time to repay the favour. "We've been in Denerim since the wedding, I think it's time you took in some more of your country, my Queen."

"What has Redcliffe got to do with this?" she asked.

"I think my former foster father has been keeping secrets from me," Alistair replied.

Usually he would ask Alim to make the travel arrangements for their trip, but he didn't want to take him from Zevran's side as yet, so he would have to ask Miranda to do it. She managed these things with astonishing efficiency and he made a mental note to have Alim take some lessons in organisation from her. Although his fellow warden had been more than efficient with their troops on the battlefield he was hopeless when it came to packing gear and organising travel for more than one person. It was a good thing Teagan and Eamon had been with them on the march to Denerim.

Thinking about Eamon made his chest hurt. He remembered being so angry with him, on the boat trip to Redcliffe Chantry, that he refused to talk. Remembered playing swords with him before the wedding to Isolde, remembered his earnest face when he told him who his father was....

Remembered standing in front of him in his Denerim estate as he was informed he would be put forward as a candidate for the throne. Being told it was his _duty. _

_Join us as we carry the duty that cannot be forsworn..._

"Alistair," Miranda's voice cut through his thoughts and he realised she'd been trying to get his attention for a while.

"Sorry, my love," he said.

"You're tensing up. What is it?"

He sighed. They had reached his study and he pushed open the door. Once they were inside he leaned against his desk, his mind still buzzing.

"It looks like Eamon might have been..... involved in this attack," Alistair said.

She looked puzzled. "Eamon tried to kill Alim?"

"Not.. exactly. The templar was one we met at the Tower - during Uldred's rebellion..."

"The one who had been imprisoned?" she said, sitting in one of the chairs by the fire.

"Yes. His name is Cullen. Irving and Gregior were keeping a close eye on him - he wanted - very badly - to use the right of annulment, even after we'd saved the mages. He thought they were abominations." Alistair sighed. "I couldn't blame him. The poor man was imprisoned, tortured - he hadn't seen anyone except demons and abominations for days upon days when we found him. Not to mention Alim said he was always one of those templars who thought mages were half demons already..."

"So what has this got to do with Eamon?"

"I don't know.. exactly. That's why I want to go there. Irving almost certainly would have informed us once Cullen escaped. A rogue templar is important enough to report to everyone. But the report would have gone to Redcliffe first and it's possible..."

"That Eamon didn't pass it on deliberately," Miranda finished for him, looking grim.

He pressed his fingers to his eyes. "I can't believe he actually meant for Alim to be killed," he said. "He... tried to warn me, before he left. To look after my people. I wonder if he meant...?"

"It sounds like he's pretty conflicted," Miranda said. "If he didn't pass the message on he probably regrets it."

"Oh, I'm going to make him regret it," Alistair said, dropping his hands from his face. One hand went to the amulet around his neck. "But I need to see him face to face."

She got to her feet, looking business like. "Well, it seems we have a trip to organise," she said.

He stepped forward and took her hand in his, cupping her cheek with the other hand. "Have I told you I love you today?" he said.

She smiled up at him. "Why no, I don't think you have. It never hurts to hear it though."

"I love you," he said, dipping his lips to hers and kissing her. She melted against him for a moment, something that always sent a thrill through him - she who could barely tolerate his touch a few months ago, then he pulled back and brushed her hair from her forehead. "Are you all right?" he asked her.

She looked puzzled for a moment. "Yes," she said. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"I don't know," he said, pulling her a little closer. "It's just... seeing Zevran like that... and Alim.. it made me think of us. How much I wanted to keep you safe - I still want that."

She reached up and traced his lips with her finger. "I want you to be safe as well," she said. "I love you too, you know."

"You do?"

She grinned. "Of course. Hadn't you worked it out yet?"

He couldn't have stopped the grin that spread across his face if he wanted to, and he didn't want to. "Wow," he said. "Just.. wow. That's amazing."

Her laughter rocked through him - a deep throaty chuckle - and she wrapped her arms around his waist and hugged him tight. "Is it so difficult to believe?" she said.

He touched his lips to her hair. "It's not happened very often," he said.

"I can't imagine why not," she murmured into his chest.

Alim came to see them that evening just after they had dined.

"How's Zevran?" Alistair asked as Alim sat at the table with them, helping himself to some wine and cheese.

"Better," the mage replied. "He's joking in between bouts of sleep. I think he'll be back to normal in a month. The healers say two, but Zevran's accusing them of exaggerating. He _does _heal fast. Probably been trained to."

"That's excellent," Alistair said. He looked at Miranda, who nodded. "We're going to Redcliffe the day after tomorrow," he continued. "I need to speak with Eamon."

"I agree," Alim said.

"I want you to come with us."

Alim let out a breath. "I... "

"I know with Zevran in this state you don't want to be going anywhere, but if he's stable..."

The mage's face grew troubled. Alistair knew he didn't want to leave Zevran's side, and he could understand it. But he needed Alim there. If he was honest with himself, he knew that he needed him there for support more than anything. He didn't know if he had the will to confront Eamon about this on his own. If Alim was there... it would be easier. "You're right," Alim said, eventually. "I need to go with you. Much as I want to stay, Zevran's in good hands and he'll be safer if he's not with me."

"Exactly," Alistair said. "And you'll be safer with us. Plus I want to show Eamon exactly how not dead you are. See if it rattles him a little."

"You don't really think he arranged this deliberately, do you?" Alim said. "I find it hard to believe."

"I can't see the man I knew doing this," Alistair said. "But then again, I haven't really known him for a long time. Maybe the man I knew doesn't exist any more. Maybe he only existed in the mind of a five year old boy."

"Maybe living with that harpy has rubbed off on him too much," Alim muttered.

"Lady Isolde?" Miranda said. Alistair coughed a little and gave Alim a significant look.

"Oh, come on, Alistair, you're not going to defend her are you? She made your life a living hell."

"She had her reasons," Alistair said.

"They weren't good ones, though."

"She didn't lock you in the cage, did she?" Miranda asked.

Alistair frowned at his wife. "No. I locked myself in there. I told you that when you rescued me."

"Yes, but he locked himself in there because of Lady Isolde," Alim said. "I'll bet you ten sovereigns."

"I was eight years old. Boys that age do those sorts of things. They don't need reasons."

"Pray we don't have boys then, Alistair," Miranda said, laughing. "Or at least, pray they take after me and not you."

"Oh, I'm already praying for that, take my word."

That night as they lay in bed, Miranda turned to him. "I haven't asked you what you think about children," she said.

"They're smaller versions of us, aren't they?" he said, a little awkwardly.

"Well, naturally. But do you want them?"

"I sort of have an obligation to want them," he said. "King and all."

"Aside from that," she said. "Did you ever want them? Before you knew you were going to be king?"

"Well, they weren't really an option before," he said. "Templars have that whole vow of chastity thing going against them and... grey wardens..."

"Grey wardens?"

"I probably should have mentioned this before," he said, sighing and sitting up. "But it's actually quite difficult for grey wardens to have children."

"What?"

"Well.. the joining ritual... it changes us."

She poked him in the stomach. "You seem pretty normal to me," she said, then let her hand wander downwards until he jumped. "And everything is certainly functioning."

He suddenly found it difficult to keep his train of thought. "Yes.. yes... ah - functions are all fine. Very fine, thank you!" His voice raised in pitch a little as she did something very particular with her fingers. "But... um.. would you mind stopping that for a moment? I'm trying to.... tell you something important here..."

She stopped moving her hand, but kept it where it was, grinning at him.

"The joining ritual means our... fertility isn't the same as everyone else's. It's harder to conceive a child for us than for normal people. It _does _happen though, just... not as often or as easily as everyone else."

"So... is that a yes, you do want them, or a no, you'd rather not?"

He laughed a little. "Until I became king I hadn't thought about it at all." He looked down at her, an image of a little girl with her eyes and his hair suddenly forming in his head. A child of their own. "But I would very much like to have children. Especially with you."

"Mmm," she said, then started moving her hand again until his vision started to crowd in and he was breathing raggedly. "More difficult to conceive you say? We might just have to try a little harder."

"Harder..." he said, leaning over her and brushing her hair from her shoulders, "...mmm. Yes. Harder would be good."


	20. Chapter 20

They expected him to ride a horse to Redcliffe. "Um, Alistair, didn't you tell your wife I couldn't do this?" he said, looking at the beast nervously.

"What, you can't ride?"

"What, you _can?" _Alim said. "I thought you were locked in a chantry your entire life."

Alistair chuckled. "Warden training," he said. "I'm not good at it, but I can do it. You missed out on that bit unfortunately."

"I've never bemoaned the fact that Ferelden doesn't have many horses," Alim said.

"It's all right, my friend," Alistair said, patting him on the shoulder. "You can ride in the carriage with the women."

Alim took a mock swing at his friend. "Who's going to ride this one then?" he asked.

"I will," came a light voice from behind him. "In truth, I was always going to, Alistair was just playing with you." He turned to see the Queen, dressed in leather armour and helm, with a pair of daggers on her back.

"Thank the Maker," Alim breathed. She grinned at him and motioned to the royal carriage.

"We might have time on the journey to give you a few riding lessons," she said. "But in the meantime you get to ride with Liana and.. no doubt when he starts getting sore, my husband." Alistair looked offended and she cocked an eyebrow. "You told me it's been more than a year since you've ridden," she said. "You're going to be as sore as anything tomorrow."

"So are you," he pointed out.

"Yes, but I'm not quite as sensitive in certain areas as you are my love," she said, grinning. "Advantages of my gender, you understand. Also women are better at enduring pain, everyone knows that."

Alim laughed. "Well, at least I'll have company in my lack of horsemanship. For tomorrow at least."

The trip was remarkably pleasant. Winter had loosened its grip on Ferelden and there was a gentle warmth to the days. As they traveled south more signs of spring made themselves known - flowers began to bloom and green began to sweep across the trees and fields.

On the second day Alistair did indeed ride in the carriage, wincing at every bump. Alim was very glad he hadn't been tempted to try riding at all. Liana excused herself to ride on top and have a shouted conversation with her Queen and enjoy the spring air. "You don't look happy, my friend," Alim said.

"Miranda seemed to think the people of Denerim would enjoy the spectacle of their king leaving the city on a horse," Alistair replied. "I'm beginning to think she simply did it to humiliate me. The woman has a much more wicked sense of humour than you would think."

"She seems much happier," Alim said.

Alistair grinned for a moment, but the grin was replaced by a thoughtful look and he leaned forward. "I wanted to ask you something," he said. "Advice, I think. Or reassurance. I'm not sure."

"I'm listening."

"Have you told Zevran about... what will happen to us? What the joining has changed?"

"Have I told him we've only got thirty years to live?"

"Yes," Alistair said.

"No," Alim said, suddenly grim. "No I haven't."

"Why not?"

Alim pressed his lips together. "To be honest, I've been afraid to."

"You're afraid of his reaction?"

"Yes. But I'm also afraid that if I tell him... it will place expectations on us. On our relationship. Thirty years is a long time, Alistair. It's very possible we'll die before their up even without the taint in our blood."

His friend nodded. "I don't feel good about keeping it from Miranda," he said, looking out the window. "When I became king I intended to tell whoever was going to be my wife before we were married - but Miranda was so.... I didn't want to make things worse."

"Didn't want her to have another reason to turn you down?" Alim said, smiling.

Alistair laughed a little and ran his fingers through his hair. "Yes. I didn't expect to actually _want_ to marry anyone so much."

"She strikes me as the sort of person who would be able to cope if you did tell her," Alim said.

"She told me she loved me," Alistair said. "And now I feel like I've betrayed her somehow, by not telling her before she got to that point. She might have.. I don't know... protected herself somehow? Stopped..."

Alim shook his head. "Alistair, you can't stop yourself from loving someone. It's one of those things that just happens. I'd tell her, if I was you."

"Even though you haven't told Zevran?"

"I'm beginning to think I need to tell him as well."

"Zevran strikes me as the sort of person who would take it in his stride," Alistair said. "But... I don't know about Miranda. She's been through so much - should I put another burden on her? Or should we just enjoy the time we have?"

"Put it this way - do you want to have to tell her just before you go to the deep roads? By the way, my love, I'm off to fight darkspawn until I die because if I don't you might just wake up next to a ghoul one morning?"

"Mmm. Maybe I could just sneak off."

"But you wouldn't want to do that, would you?" Alim said. "It's not your thing, Alistair, to run away. From anything. You would have killed the archdemon even if I _hadn't _made that little arrangement with Morrigan. You were willing to sacrifice yourself."

"I seem to remember it was you who jumped in with the offer when Riordan told us what killing the archdemon entailed. And what _was _that arrangement...?"

"It's not important," Alim said. _Not yet, any way. _"I think I'm probably trying to convince myself as much as I'm trying to convince you, Alistair, but I think you should tell her. She's strong. She'll cope. And she more than anyone will understand how fickle fate can be."

His friend sighed and slumped forward. "You know, I never thought I'd regret joining the wardens. It was a rescue for me. Thirty years seemed like such a long time, even when Duncan told me I didn't think it was much of a price to pay."

"I was a bit put out when you told me," Alim said.

"I remember. But when you put another person in the picture..."

"If only you'd been more willing to come to my side of things," Alim said, grinning.

Alistair suddenly blushed furiously. "Or if only you'd been a woman," he pointed out.

They had _pavilions. (1) _Alistair was overwhelmed. The Antivan King had actually sent the royal pavilion to them as a wedding gift. It was ostentatious, enormous, beautiful and took forever to put up. But appearances were important and to be honest, it was nice to be able to stand upright when one got changed out of one's armour. He remembered the canvas sheets they'd used during the Blight, remembered how ineffectual they'd been at keeping out the rain... oh, and the _noise, _especially after Alim and Zevran decided it was no longer necessary to be discreet about their relationship....

He would have to remember that despite the _feeling _of luxury they were not in private in any true sense of the word.

"I've missed traveling," Miranda said as she sat on their cot and worked her boots loose. The floor of the pavilion was spread with rugs and they even had a table and chairs. Someone _else _had done the cooking. Someone _else _was standing watch.

"Really?" Alistair said, as he undid the buckles on his plate armour, "I haven't. Mind you, I've never traveled like this before, so maybe I could get to like it."

She got up to help him remove the pieces of the armour. "How are you feeling?" she asked him.

"What do you mean?"

"After a day of rest from riding. Do you think you could get back on the horse again tomorrow?"

He winced at the thought. "Probably. But I'd prefer not to think about it right now."

She grinned at him. When he was down to his smalls he turned to help her with her leathers - not that she needed help, but he enjoyed it any way. It was good to see her as a fighter as well as his queen - it reminded him that she wasn't just a simpering court noble. It was also _more than good _to see her out of the leathers - her creamy skin felt hot and smooth under his touch and as he helped her with her bottom half, kneeling behind her, he couldn't resist pressing his lips to the small of her back and running his hands around her abdomen. She shivered under his touch and turned to face him, taking his head in her hands and pressing his face to her stomach. He felt her fingers in his hair, stroking and he kissed her navel, letting his tongue trace a small circle just above the top of her smallclothes. Her hands tightened in his hair.

He suddenly remembered his conversation with Alim that day in the carriage and pulled his head back, looking up to see her head leaning tilted forward, a contented smile on her lips. His heart swelled, overcome with feeling and he squeezed his arms around her legs briefly, before getting to his feet.

"I wanted to talk to you about something," he said softly, when they were both standing. She was still in his arms and he hugged her briefly before leading her to the cot and sitting down next to her.

"Something serious," she said. He nodded. "It's a good thing you waited until we were in our underwear then."

He smiled. "I don't... I don't really know how you're going to react to it, and I'm sorry I didn't tell you earlier..."

"Alistair, I'm listening. Just tell me."

"There's another side effect to the joining," he said. "I'm really not supposed to tell anyone who isn't a warden, but I think considering you're.." he sighed. "We drink darkspawn blood, when we take part in the joining. It makes us immune to the taint sickness. If we didn't do it, pretty much every warden who went near a darkspawn would become tainted and die a ghoul."

"The taint sickness. I've heard of it."

"But it's not exactly an immunity," he said. "We end up tainted as well. It's just... slower for us than for anyone else."

She cocked her head on one side. "This is why you're less.. _fertile _as well I take it?" she said.

He nodded. "But eventually the taint wins. We have perhaps thirty years before it overcomes us. Traditionally we go to Orzammar and the deep roads to fight darkspawn rather than letting the taint take it's natural course."

"You're saying you're not going to live beyond fifty?" she said. Her tone gave nothing away about what she was feeling. She looked perfectly calm and collected. Much the same as she had looked when she had told them she would come with them to face Howe.

"Very few wardens make it that far," he said. He took her hand in his. She let him, but her hand was limp and didn't return the squeeze. "Miranda, I'm sorry I didn't tell you this earlier. I... was debating whether to tell you at all. I didn't want to make things harder for you.... " he looked at her. She was looking at the floor of the tent. Her expression was blank. "I completely messed up again, didn't I?" he said.

Something in his tone must have reached her, because she looked up at him again and she wasn't blank any more. Her lips were pressed together and her eyes were full. "Thirty years is a long time," she said softly.

He shrugged helplessly. "Somehow it doesn't seem as long as it used to," he said. A tear spilled down one of her cheeks and he caught his breath. "Holy Maker, Miranda, I'm so sorry," he said, pulling her to his chest. She laid her head against him and sighed. "I.." he was totally at a loss. He wished he hadn't told her. He wished he'd told her earlier. He wished he'd never become a warden. He wished he'd died on the top of Fort Drakon the way one of them had supposed to. But then he looked down at her head and wished, simply, for more time. More time _with her._

After a long moment she sat up and wiped wiped her eyes.

"Are you all right?"

She smiled ruefully. "I will be," she said. "I'm just.. adjusting."

"You seem to have to do all the adjusting in this relationship," he said glumly. "It's not fair."

She laughed and put her hand on his cheek, stroking down the line of his jaw and resting it in the hollow between his collarbone and his neck.

"It's still amazing to me that I can do this," she said, continuing to run her hand down his arm until it found his hand and grasped it. "I remember _swearing _at one stage that if I ever got out I'd never let anyone touch me again. He made me forget how wonderful it was - just... touching." She moved a little closer to him and he put his arm around her shoulder. "I didn't think I'd ever get out of there," she continued. "Then I didn't think I'd ever feel... normal again. You know?" She smiled a little, looking at him. "When so much is taken away from you by force... there's nothing left to stand on. No solidity. In the dungeon, I ended up holding on to Howe's death as a way of staying sane - I'd imagine it, in so many different ways. It was something familiar. But when he was gone... "

She frowned and looked down. "It was almost like losing another family member. You'll probably find it difficult to believe, but I felt worse for those few days after he died than I did the whole time I was imprisoned. Then we found Fergus and _part _of what I'd had was brought back. But Fergus was different too, and..."

"I think I understand."

"And then you..." she stopped and took a deep breath, then smiled. "Come here," she said, and leaned back, pulling him down to her for a kiss that quickly became heated. She ran her fingers down the sides of his body and grasped his hips as the kiss went on, pulling his body as close to her as it would go. He struggled for a moment to get his elbows on either side of her so he wouldn't crush her under his weight, but she pulled him down further until he was resting against her, pressed into her so tightly that he was afraid she wouldn't be able to breathe. He finally succeeded in pulling back.

"Miranda," he gasped. She laughed and let him fall beside her, but didn't loosen her grip on him. She wrapped one leg over his hip and he could feel the tense strength in the muscles of her thighs.

"I think what I'm trying to say is that it doesn't matter," she said, rocking her hips a little in a way that was quickly becoming maddening. "I'm glad you told me, but it doesn't matter. Anything can happen in that time. There are no guarantees. And there are always things that keep us together if we care enough."

He buried his head in her neck and kissed it, running his hand down to her hip and around to her backside. "I love you so much," he said as he trailed kisses down to her shoulder. "I never wanted to hurt you."

She pulled his face up to hers and pressed her nose into his. "_You_ have never hurt me," she said firmly. "Now, _be quiet."_

_

* * *

_

_(1) Interesting historical fact - don't let anyone tell you I'm not educational! Henry II (Richard the Lionheart's father) apparently used to do this. He spent so much time traveling around England and Europe that he firmly believed a good tent was the best possible wedding gift any royal could have. He sent one to Emperor Frederick I that was "so large it could be lifted only with machines and tools of every kind - and with poles."_


	21. Chapter 21

They arrived at Redcliffe two weeks later, having stopped along the way at every village. A spring visit for the people of Ferelden, who didn't fail to come out of their homes and cheer their king and queen. She was reminded of feast days and celebrations in Highever with her parents, and found herself enjoying herself more than she thought was possible.

Every now and then she would look across at Alistair (he was riding most days now - she was proud to note, and getting a better seat with every day) and feel a pang around her heart. She was too young, really, to appreciate how much of his life had been cut away from him. But she remembered that her father had been not yet fifty when he died, her mother a few years younger. It was too young. But it wasn't uncommon.

He caught her looking every now and then. He would smile back at her and she could remember that at least they had _now._

She hadn't been to Redcliffe since she was a child, but she remembered the vista from the bridge over to the castle and she breathed in the lake air. There was a definite warmth to it. Spring was finally here.

In the courtyard they were greeted by Eamon, Isolde, Connor and the usual entourage of attendants. She and Alistair alighted from their horses and Alim from the carriage as the three of them knelt. Alistair looked

awkward and had his lips pressed tightly together.

A small voice piped up from next to Eamon. "Is that the Queen?" Connor said. "She's pretty!"

Alistair laughed at that. "Yes, she is," he said, looking at her and smiling. "And very nice of you to say so, Connor, I must say." He ruffled the boy's hair. She knew Connor was going to the tower soon - and thought she could understand some of the pain she saw in Isolde's face at the interaction between Alistair and the boy.

"Won't you come inside, your majesties?" Eamon said. "I've had your usual rooms prepared for you."

* * *

In the room she was to share with Alistair, he couldn't stay still. They unpacked, washed and changed from armour into court clothes and he paced the room while she was arranging her hair.

"Alistair, you're going to wear yourself out."

"I'm already worn out," he said, sighing and sinking onto the bed. "How do you say something like this? Nice to see you Eamon, by the way did you arrange to have my best friend killed?"

She turned from the vanity and faced him. "Yes," she said. "Probably not in those words though."

"I don't know if we should have unpacked," he said. "Eamon's likely to throw us all out as soon as I've finished talking to him."

"You're the king, Alistair. He's not going to have you thrown out."

"Oh, right. I keep forgetting that part."

"Are you ready to go? We should pick up Alim on the way."

He covered his eyes with his hands. "No. I don't think I'll ever be ready," he said.

"I'll be there," she said. He dropped his hands and stood up with her.

* * *

Eamon was waiting for them in his study. The three of them stood in front of his desk.

"I know why you've come," the older man said. "The attempt on the chancellor's life. The message that should have got to you from the tower." He ran his fingers through his hair. "It was my responsibility to warn you that Cullen was loose. I didn't."

Alistair's face fell. "Why not, Eamon?"

He sighed. "You were skirting dangerous ground, Alistair," the Arl said. "Your determination to change the established order was going to be your undoing. Alim's influence was too great. Removing him would have silenced the whispers of rebellion against you before they had time to gather momentum..." Alistair opened his mouth to reply but Eamon held up his hand. "They _would _have gathered momentum, Alistair. You know the ones who were behind it. They have more support than you think. Those who spoke out against you at the Landsmeet have been working hard since the archdemon fell to garner it. They think of you as a bastard usurper who's been seduced by elves and mages. I had to stop the cause for those rumours."

Alistair sat in a chair across from his foster father. Alim's hands had clenched into fists. Miranda, however, was standing still, watching Eamon with keen eyes. "You're lying," she said.

Alim and Alistair's faces snapped to hers. Eamon looked up at her, and his face was haggard and defeated. "Am I?" he said. "What makes you think that?"

"I've spent a lot of time in the company of men who lie, Arl Eamon," she said softly. "And I've spent a lot of time in the company of good men who are trying to protect the people they love. Why did you warn Alistair to look after his people if you were the one who intended to kill Alim? Why send Cullen to do the job, when you obviously knew he was too unstable to do it without help? Why send mercenaries, and why so few when _you _were on top of Fort Drakon when the archdemon fell. You _knew _Alim and Zevran together were a team that would take more than a deranged Templar and a fistful of men for hire to defeat. This was a plan hatched by someone who didn't have your experience on the field, and who didn't know the people they were trying to kill."

"And yet, I have made my confession," he said. "Even if I were lying, how would you prove it?"

"And what does your wife think of this?" she continued. "What about your son? Are you willing to sacrifice yourself for the sake of a few insignificant Bans under your command...." she trailed off as she watched his face. "No, you wouldn't, would you?" she said softly, suddenly understanding. "You wouldn't sacrifice yourself for _them... "_

Eamon got to his feet. "What does it matter?" he said. "The attempt failed."

"Eamon, you'll be executed for confessing to high treason," Alistair said. "I still need you. If you're protecting someone, you need to tell us..."

"No he doesn't," Miranda interrupted. "Because I know who he's protecting." She walked swiftly to the bell and rang for a servant. The elven woman arrived a few moments later. "Would you ask Lady Isolde to join us, please?" she said, and turned back to Eamon as the woman left.

"Isolde?" Alistair said. "You think _Isolde _is behind this? Are you insane?"

But Eamon stood silent, his arms beside him, the defeat in his face more prominent than before. She was right, she _knew _she was right. But she didn't fully understand.

Alim gave a desperate laugh. "Even I didn't think she was that crazy," he said.

When Isolde came into the study, Miranda studied her. She was still a beautiful woman - in her mid-thirties, straight backed and proud. But her eyes held a certain wildness and despair that Miranda hadn't noticed before. They flashed when they saw Alim standing near her husband and Miranda had all the confirmation she needed.

"Lady Isolde," she said. "You sent Cullen after Alim. You arranged to have the chancellor of Ferelden killed. That's treason. Give me a reason why I shouldn't have the guards arrest you right now."

Eamon stepped forward swiftly and stood in front of his wife, taking his hands in hers. "Don't say a word, my love," he said. "They can't prove anything."

Alistair stood up. "No, we can't," he said. "But if I choose to take your husband at his word, Isolde, he will be executed."

Isolde looked up at Eamon. "No," she said. She pulled her hands from his and turned to Alistair. "I did this. I sent the Templar after him."

"Why Isolde?" Miranda asked. "Why try to kill Alim? What possible....."

"You weren't there," she said. "You didn't see him. When Connor was... he would have killed my _son. _You have no children. You don't understand."

"But he didn't kill Connor, Isolde," Alistair said. "We went to the tower, we defeated the demon in the fade. Connor was set free."

Isolde's face twisted. "Free?" she said. "Free to be taken away from me, locked in a tower for the rest of his life? Forced into a life he never wanted? You call that freedom? I know there are mages who never come back from the harrowing. Do not deny it!"

"It's no different to what you did to Alistair," Alim said forcefully. "And what was the alternative? Redcliffe was nearly destroyed by what your son did, Isolde. By what you did."

"Please," Eamon said. "She hasn't been the same... not since... she's not responsible for her actions...."

"Eamon, she tried to have Alim _killed!" _Alistair cried.

"It was an opportunity. If Cullen hadn't escaped none of this would have happened.... She intercepted the message before I could read it. I tried to have them stopped on the road but I was too late."

Isolde took Eamon's hand in hers. "You didn't understand why I was doing it," she said. "He stole your position, he whispers in Alistair's ear to change things that do not need to be changed. He needed to be removed. Your bans agree with me. The Chantry agrees with me. I am not ashamed of what I did."

Eamon cupped his wife's face in his hand. "You cannot do this," he said to her.

"I have already done it," she said. "And I would do it again if I had the chance. You know that."

"It only remains to decide what we need to do with her," Miranda said. She had to admire the woman. She was driven, and warped, but she was proud.

"You can't execute her," Eamon said softly.

Alim snorted. "Why not?" Alim said. "She's admitted to treason."

"You can't execute her - yet at any rate," Eamon continued. "She's pregnant."


	22. Chapter 22

Alim followed Miranda and Alistair back to their quarters. Alistair had extracted a promise from Eamon to keep Isolde confined until the baby was old enough to be weaned. Something seemed to have broken in his friend, however, and he gave a deep sigh as he sat on the bed.

"She was involved in the rebellion, you know," Alistair said. "That's how she and Eamon met. Only in her teens but she actually helped the Fereldens. Chose to stay here rather than go back to Orlais with her father because she _loved _him."

"I didn't know that," Alim said. "I always assumed Eamon had met her on a trip or something."

"Why did she do it?"

"She explained why," Alim said.

"It's not good enough," Alistair said. "She would have to be crazy..."

Miranda sat next to him and took his hand. "Alistair, to all intents and purposes, she is. She still saw Alim as a threat to Connor. I have no doubt that the baby she's carrying is adding to it as well."

"There's every chance this baby will also be a mage," Alim said. "That would be making her more paranoid."

"Pregnancy does funny things sometimes," Miranda said.

"Remember as well, Alistair, that she spent all that time locked up in Redcliffe with an abomination - there's no telling what it did to her, even though she was fine physically."

"It's ultimately your decision what her fate will be, Alistair," Miranda said softly. "But you have some time, at least."

He nodded.

* * *

That night Eamon joined them for an informal dinner. The mood was subdued and Alistair resolved not to stay any longer than was absolutely necessary. They had a meeting with the bans tomorrow, but they would be able to get underway the following morning. He found he couldn't wait to see the back of Redcliffe - possibly forever.

"You need to know, Alistair," Eamon said quietly. "The troops that accompanied Cullen - they were arranged by Bann Wulf, not Isolde. I can prove it - she was smart enough to keep the letter he sent to her in reply. She asked him to do it, but he was willing to take part. He needs to be dealt with."

Alistair nodded, but couldn't find any response. If Isolde had had her way during the Blight, she would be dead now. If Alistair hadn't spoken up and demanded Alim go to the circle... He had fought so hard to save all three of them and this was how he was repaid.

"Alistair, I'm so sorry," Eamon said then. "I didn't realise how far gone she was - we were so caught up in getting you on the throne, and then I stayed in Denerim when I really should have been here.. It is my fault as much as hers that this happened."

He pressed his lips together. There were no words. Next to him he could feel Alim tense up and he remembered telling the mage about what Isolde had been like, before he went to the chantry. He put his hand on his friend's arm. It would do on one any good to enter into recriminations now. The damage had been done. The Arl's family would never be the same.

And it was the Arl's family. Not his. He should have realised that a long time ago. If he wanted his own family, he thought, looking at Miranda seated across from him, he was going to have to make it himself.

* * *

Zevran met them at the Palace when they returned to Denerim. He walked with a cane, but he was walking and Alim was overjoyed. After a brief greeting the King and Queen retired inside and Alim was left with his lover.

"Short trip," the Antivan said as he embraced the mage. "Am I wrong in assuming that the mystery has been solved?"

"Not wrong," Alim said. "It's sorted. There won't be any more attempts on my life - from that quarter in any case."

"I am relieved to hear it." They made their slow way back to Alim's quarters, simply enjoying each other's company.

They made love carefully to avoid any strain on Zevran's wounds, and Alim felt truly that he had come home. Afterwards, they lay in each other's arms, sweating after their exertions and in the spring warmth. Alim traced the tattoo on Zevran's face, letting his fingers linger on the tips of his ears, enjoying the slight shiver that ran through his fellow elf at the touch.

"Alistair is taking Isolde's betrayal hard," Alim said finally. "I haven't seen him this upset since Eamon first suggested he take the throne."

"This Isolde woman - she was always a problem," Zevran said. "When we first met her I knew she was unstable. I was once contracted to remove someone very like her, actually, in Antiva. The wife of a powerful nobleman. His family wanted her removed before she did something foolish. A shame Eamon did not recognise this propensity for insanity in his wife earlier."

"She's been through a lot, Zev," Alim said. "You might have acted the same way, if you'd been put in her position."

"Alas, for the problem of my sex, it shall never be," Zevran said.

"I would never call your sex a problem, my assassin," he replied, letting his hand slide lower onto Zevran's abdomen.

"No indeed," Zevran said, laughing.

* * *

The letter from Weisshaupt arrived two weeks later. Alistair called him into his study, a worried look on his face.

"The High Commander demands our presence," he said to Alim. _"Both _of us. The gall of the man."

"I assume you won't be leaving," Alim said.

"Of course not. It's a six month round trip. I'm tempted not to let you go either."

"I need to go, Alistair," Alim said. "We need to explain what happened with the archdemon. And I'm assuming there'll be orders regarding the rebuilding of the Ferelden Wardens."

"They're also demanding at least three quarters of the archdemon blood," Alistair said. "Not surprising, considering their supplies must be running fairly low. Will you take Zevran with you?"

"If he'll come."

"I don't want to lose you," Alistair said.

He grinned. "Alistair, your wife is much better equipped to give you advice about how to rule Ferelden than I'll ever be."

"I'd deny that to stroke your ego, but I'd be lying and we'd both know it. Still, I'm going to miss you, my friend."

"I'll be back."

* * *

Zevran agreed to go with him, but not all the way to Weisshaupt. "I need to go to Antiva, my love," he said. "I need to be certain that the Crows believe I am dead."

Alim felt fear grip his heart. "You can't," he said. "They'll recognise you..."

"No, no, Alim, they will not recognise me. The Crows are not like the Wardens. We do not all meet in a big field and have drinks together. The only Crows who knew my face were my direct superior and those I worked with - Taliesin, who is now conveniently dead... and..."

"And Rinna," Alim finished for him. "Also dead. And I'm assuming that the man who sent you on that mission will be dead soon after you get to Antiva?"

"You know me too well, my magical love. I do indeed intend to take my revenge of him. But I promise to return. If I am efficient enough, and you know that I am, I shall be able to meet you on your way back from the Anderfels."

Alim cupped Zevran's cheek. "You'd better," he said. "Otherwise I will come looking for you."

The elf smiled and kissed him.

* * *

Alim's farewell was lavish and sumptuous. Ferelden's spring weather was kind to them, the day dawning bright and clear and warm. Alim and Zevran waved goodbye to the king and queen from their carriage and left the city in high spirits.

Alistair and Miranda made their way back to their rooms that evening subdued, but Alistair could tell there was something on Miranda's mind. He liked to think he knew her better now, than anyone save perhaps Alim, and he hoped she knew him as well.

"I have some news for you," she said, smiling up at him. "I'm pregnant."

He felt the news before he really heard it as a jolt to the stomach. "Really?" he said.

She rolled her eyes. "No, I just made it up to have another hold over you. Of course really."

He blinked. "I'm sorry, my love," he said, letting the smile that had been trying to get his attention spread over his face. "That's wonderful news. Is everything all right? Have you told anyone else?"

"No. But as far as I can tell I'm nearly two months in," she placed her hands on her stomach. He hesitantly placed his own over hers.

"Our own baby?" he said.

"Yes, ours," she said.

He sighed happily and gathered her into his arms. "You know, I never wanted to be king," he said. "And I still don't know if I'm going to be a good one. But..."

"But?"

"At least you'll be here."

She squeezed him tightly. "Always," she said.


End file.
